Witness Protection
by Rylenae
Summary: The past haunts Emilia Hayes in the form of a murderer. Sherlock can't help but feel that everything tied to this girl is all because of a certain criminal, but what if he's wrong? John can't stand to watch his friend fall victim to feelings, but if she promises to not ever hurt the silly man, it might be okay. Sherlock x OC
1. Prologue

John smiled at Mrs. Hudson as she sat his coffee before him, just the way he liked it, too. Sherlock was already at it with an experiment at the table.

"Sherlock, have you no mind? We're trying to have breakfast over here."

"Yes, it would be nice if you brought up the paper every morning from now on. Good idea, Mrs. Hudson."

The elder woman threw her hands in the air and sat it next to John. She grabs it every day since it's always right next to her door to begin with. It took him this long to notice? Sherlock continued along with a shake of his head and a twist on the dial of the microscope.

John's phone dinged, indicating a text message. Great timing, as he felt the silence was too awkward.

_Can you and the consulting phone ignorer come in for a case today?_

From Lestrade.

"Are you busy today?" John asked his flat mate.

"Obviously, can you not see I am already working?" Sherlock replied with his usual sarcastic tones.

"Lestrade asks us to come in today."

"I know," Sherlock held up his phone after pulling it out of his robe pocket. "He's done called four times and texted me seven."

_Consulting phone ignorer._

"Doesn't interest you?"

"No."

"You don't even know the specifics."

"Neither do you."

"Maybe it's already on the front page," Mrs. Hudson said as she pointed at the paper before John.

John and Mrs. Hudson huddled around the paper, coffee in hand as they looked it over.

"In summary, nineteen women have been killed, all in exactly the same way, but DNA tests have proven that they were all murdered by different men."

"Exactly the same?" Sherlock murmured.

"That's the impression I'm reading, dear," the landlady replied.

Sherlock finally looked away from what he was examining and to his phone.

_Have you read the paper?_

_ Answer your phone._

_ I have a case for you._

_ Answer your phone._

_ Answer your phone._

_ Answer your phone. _

_ Answer your phone._

Sherlock called the man back, sighing deeply.

"I want facts before I even decide if I'm getting dressed. If it's even worth getting dressed for."

"Did you read the paper?"

"I want the facts from _you_," Sherlock bit through the phone.

Lestrade let out an audible sigh as the phone was placed on speakerphone and sat next to the microscope so Sherlock could continue on with his experiment.

"Oh this sounds important. I should leave. Ring me if you need anything, boys."

Mrs. Hudson gathered her coffee cup and left the boys to their business.

"Alone now?" Lestrade asked annoyed.

"Yes, sir, go ahead," John answered.

"Nineteen women were tortured and murdered in the past three months. They don't seem to have been related at all, except for the way they were murdered. Knife wounds from the torture and a single silenced gunshot to the side of the head. The exact same place, same bullet type, everything."

"So how have you gathered the different kinds of DNA?"

Another sigh. "The women were all raped before death. After examining the bodies, the women all appeared to have been forced into sexual activities. All also, in the exact same way. Just different sperm samples."

John crinkled his nose and forehead. "You'd been able to gather even all that from these bodies?"

"We've been trying to find links and ways to track this murderer and get rid of him already. But nothing."

"And the suspects are all nineteen different men?"

"We've tracked these men by the DNA sampled from the specimens, and all of them have solid alibis or something of the such. We need Sherlock's help."

Sherlock's eyebrow raised. "Resorted to begging? Why hadn't I been called sooner?"

"You know your policy better than any other. Is it _interesting_ enough for you?"

"I can look."

"Is that a yes?"

"I can look," Sherlock repeated.

"I take that as a yes. We'll accept to help," John interpreted.

"Then I'll inform you of your first and foremost job when you get here in an hour. See you then."

Lestrade hung up and Sherlock pocketed his phone.

John drank the last gulp of his coffee as he stood up. "I suppose I'll get ready. Are you going to get ready?"

"When I feel like it."

John cringed and changed his footing. "This morning has been quite eventful, hasn't it?"

"Very."

"Especially for this early."

"Mhm."

John stared some more. "Are you excited at least?"

"I'm busy."

John shook his head as he retreated to his room to ready himself.

It _has_ been too eventful for a normal morning. He hadn't even made it through his plate before the case landed on that plate.


	2. Emilia Hayes

Chapter One

Lestrade went over everything the best he could with the uninterested and impatient consulting detective. Sherlock wasn't interest in photos, test results, conspiracy theories. He just wasn't having it.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. I'm thinking. You're being too loud."

"Any ideas?"

John just watched back and forth between the two men as they shared dialogue. When they started to bicker though, is when he paid attention to what Sherlock was not.

"None in particular."

"So no one knows anything, then? No witnesses?" John asked. He was kind of bored sitting there too.

Lestrade looked at John as his urge to punch Sherlock had risen to immeasurable peaks. "Well, that's the thing…"

Sherlock turned his attention half-heartedly to John.

Lestrade continued. "We actually do have a witness…"

"Have they spoken? Where are they?" Sherlock asked with a loud sarcastic tone. He stood from his chair and circled the table. "Bring them in already!"

Lestrade sighed as he looked to Donovan and she knew to go retrieve the witness.

"How did this witness come about?" John asked.

"She's actually a victim. You have to be gentle with her; she's all shaken up and is barely coherent. And we will be the first men to encounter her since the attack. Usually targets of rape are against seeing the opposite sex. She will be very afraid, _Sherlock_. Be nice."

"Nice?" Sherlock gave a quirky smirk as the door opened again.

Donovan poked her head in the door. "She won't follow me. She's asking for you to go to her. Said she feels safer in the other room."

The men all shared a confused glance before exiting the room. They stalked down a few halls and got to the room the woman was supposed to be in. Lestrade looked at Sherlock and mouthed the words 'be nice.' Sherlock raised his hands in annoyance.

Inside the room sat a timid looking girl behind a table in one of the steel chairs that happened to be all over the place. Her head snapped up to look at the incoming people, but seemed to relax once she saw Lestrade. He must have been the one to comfort her earlier.

"How are you feeling?" Lestrade asked the girl.

She shrugged in response. John watched her antics with two eyes wide open. Something seemed weird right off hand with him.

"Boys, this is Emilia Hayes. She's our witness."

She stood and offered a handshake to John to which she received, but when she held her hand to Sherlock he stared at it. John knew what he was doing. He was analyzing her.

Bakes a lot. Stressed out. Indication of where a ring used to be for years on end. Cuts from encounter with murderer? Indentation on fingertips.

He started to scan over the rest of her frame.

Wears glasses. Hair is occasionally dyed. Bites nails. Hasn't slept. Still in the same clothes she was attacked in.

He finally took her hand after he got bored with analyzing her. What was with him today?

"Sherlock Holmes. Now tell me what you know."

Emilia looked nervous and then to Lestrade. He handed her a pen and a pad of paper.

"You're in shock. You can't speak," Sherlock thought out loud.

John nodded when he felt the uneasiness lift off of him. So that was what was weird.

Emilia wrote on the paper. _It's nice to meet you. I don't know very much. _

Sherlock frowned. "Tell me what you do know and prove your usefulness."

Emilia frowned. _I was attacked on the street. Drugged, brought to a place I didn't recognize. I escaped after being tortured with a knife, a gun pointed to my head almost the entire time. The man was covered in clothes from head to toe, and no noticeably determining features. Male voice. _

John read from beside Sherlock and then looked to Emilia. "At least you're safe for now."

"She's about to be a whole lot safer now," Lestrade started, as he tried hard to suppress a grin. "We need to put her in a witness protection program."

"We have one of those?" Sherlock murmured as he reread the note.

"We do now. She's going into your care."

"What?" was the combined exclamation from both of the flat mates.

"We don't know what else to do for now, and this time we'll actually pay you."

"We don't have the accommodations to deal with her!" Sherlock argued.

John was quite partial to the payment option. That was new.

"You're going to have to, Sherlock," Lestrade returned. "We don't have the extra man-power to look after her. With you and John watching her we—"

"I will not have it!"

Lestrade didn't see a way to argue with Sherlock, so he looked at John. "You do it. I place her in your custody."

"What?" John could only manage to say again.

"Emilia is your responsibility. Keep her with you at all times. I can trust you better than Sherlock as an overseer."

"I get paid, though?" John fumbled with his fingers sheepishly.

"If you do a good job. I'll check in regularly. I've already talked to Emilia," Lestrade looked to the girl, "she's okay with it. She knows about you two. The blog, and all."

"You read my blog?" John asked her. This was starting to feel like a really good day.

Emilia nodded with a small smile.

"That's nice. That's fantastic."

"Didn't I tell you to quit using that word?" Sherlock growled at John, who returned the gesture with a mischievous smile.

The next thing the boys and Emilia knew, they were in a cab and on their way back to Baker Street.

* * *

"Give her to Mrs. Hudson, she'll be in the way up here. We don't have room."

"Can't you manage to be nice for a few minutes? You've been more… Sherlock than normal."

"Definitely more than usual," Mrs. Hudson commented. "Don't worry about them, make yourself at home, darling. I'll get you some things, now."

"Could you get me a cup of tea, while you're at it, Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock retreated to his chair and sat with his violin.

"I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper!" She started the kettle up anyway, then retreated downstairs.

John took the next steps. "I'll give you my room for now. I can sleep on the couch. Please make yourself welcome, okay? And ignore Sherlock as much as possible."

"_Avoid _me as much as possible."

Emilia accepted John's graciousness with an inviting smile and small sounds from the back of her throat. She motioned her hands for a pen and paper. He retrieved such objects from Sherlock's desk, earning himself a trailing gaze that followed his every movement. Emilia then wrote.

_If it's not too much to ask, I need a shower. _

"Go on down to Mrs. Hudson's place. She could help you more than we could, as our shower is," John cleared his throat and looked around embarrassed, "kind of occupied right now."

_Oh, alright. You're a doctor, right?_

John nodded to her. "You have a question?"

_Many, once I come back. I won't be long._

Emilia handed the paper and pen to John and she waved a goodbye and went downstairs. Sherlock went to the doorway and peered out the window to watch her silhouette retreat down the stairs, then looked at John.

"You're not protecting her, why aren't you protecting her?"

"Oh, come on already. She'll be fine with Mrs. Hudson. And it's your fault for having another experiment in the bath. And why are you concerned all of a sudden? You didn't want her here to begin with."

"We're getting paid."

"_I'm _getting paid."

"If she's going to stay in our flat that income should be split."

John was hearing the words 'punch me in the face' again. He sighed. "Let's just calm down. It probably won't be that long of a time of her staying here."

"She plays violin. I wonder if she's good. Well, some kind of stringed instrument. Her neck was covered by a scarf, I couldn't see if she had marks from a chin rest. It could even be a cello. Maybe even a guitar or something, some kind of stringed instrument."

John tilted his head in interest. "What else did you see about her?"

Sherlock gave John a sideways glance, then started toward his desk with a smile hidden to himself. "Well, being the victim of the situation she was in, she still appears as stressed as the moment the incident happened, god knows how long she's been like that. There are many wounds hidden away along her arms and slightly poking out from under her scarf. She's a natural brunette but has insisted for over eleven or twelve years now to dye her hair blonde. I think she wears contacts based on the violet hue in her iris's, but her nose also showed signs of wearing glasses. I couldn't look into her eyes. She has trust issues, and is quite the insecure woman. She hasn't been home yet. Previously engaged or simply wore a single ring on her finger for years, possibly an heirloom, and most recently forcibly removed from said finger. I believe it was stolen. Her hands are worn thin in areas from heat abrasion, she obviously likes to cook and bake. I feel we may benefit from her in that area. Or at least Mrs. Hudson. As I did mention previously, she plays a stringed instrument."

John's eyebrows raised in surprise. That was a lot, he had to admit. "I think she's kind of pretty."

"Don't think about it. She just was a victim of a male's evil and idiotic desires. You'll hurt her."

John then caught it. "Are you… caring for another human?"

"Come off it. I need some tea. The kettle should be ringing soon."

And right on cue, the kettle whistled.

* * *

Downstairs Emilia was in the shower, all clean, but reflecting under the water. The shower was warm, and nice, and just what she needed. She was exhausted. It's been less than seventy-two hours since… The memories flash in her head and cause her panic and tears… Cries were coming out of her mouth, but quietly and almost not vocal at all. How long will the shock render her voice useless?

She turned off the water and dried off with the towel Mrs. Hudson had provided her with, then covered her body in a robe. Emilia at first was afraid to see her reflection, but knew she'd have to face it anyway. She wiped the steam off the mirror and gasped as she got the look at the real her.

Her right eye was blackened, a few cuts across her face, where the man grabbed her around the throat was all purple, there were deep gashes up the sides of her arms, and many various bruises. There was one stab on her leg though that seemed to be the only thing Scotland Yard had decided that needed immediate treatment. In other words, superglue and a bandage. A poor man's stitches. Maybe John could fix that.

She had to admit being thrown into the very two men she had only heard rumors about was quite the shocker. The best thing she could do was stay out of the way and be the least amount of a burden as possible.

Mrs. Hudson had even gone to the trouble of lending Emilia a dress that she actually adored. Emilia had written down her promise to return it once she can acquire some of her own clothing. Whenever that may be. It isn't too late, so maybe John could walk her to her flat and back? She'll ask him when she gets to speak with him. Otherwise, what would she sleep in?

Back upstairs, Sherlock was plucking at the strings of his violin quite violently. Emilia looked for John, not wanting to disturb the man. John was in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge. Emilia peeked in and a gasp escaped her mouth. John was startled by her noise, and looked at her quickly. She pointed at the fridge, then to her fingers, and threw her hands in the air.

"Yes, they are… human… fingers and such…"

Emilia rolled her eyes and turned to look at Sherlock still in his mood over there. She stamped her foot to get his attention and pointed at the fridge. He didn't look at her, but closed his eyes.

"If you have something to say to me, it better be with your voice. Until then I will waste away in this chair until you do."

Emilia looked at John with an incredulous expression, and he just shrugged.


	3. Stitches

Chapter Two

Emilia and John had sat down on the couch and were preparing to talk. Sherlock migrated back into the kitchen to play with the microscope. John swore he didn't have anything to do, and was trying to appear busy. Any second now, Sherlock would leave and almost instantaneously come back.

John had given Emilia his laptop so she could quickly type out her words.

_Before we start, I need help._

"With what?" John replied.

Emilia pulled up the hem of the dress slightly to show John the cut that had been glued closed. She moved her hand in a sewing motion, obviously asking him for the possibility of stitches.

John sighed. "They had to use glue. Yes, I can stitch it up, but I haven't the pain medication to do it painlessly."

_I can handle it. I may be a woman, but I think some ice to numb it would do wonders._

"Alright. What else do you need to know?" John

At this point Sherlock stormed out the door. He'll be back.

_Do you know how long the shock can keep me speechless? And… is he okay?_

"Oh, don't mind him. He's bored. Very bored, really. The voice paralysis duration varies from person to person and case to case. I can't say. Whenever you're strong enough, it'll come back."

Emilia nodded. _I also want to thank you for everything you are helping me with. I would thank Sherlock too, but I haven't the slightest idea on how, or what for. _She showed John the screen and her shoulders shook with a silent laughter. Small noises came from her mouth again.

John smiled. "I'm sure he'd like it. He seems rude all the time but he's an okay person. Oh, and if the refrigerator is really such a bother to you, I actually have a smaller fridge in the room. Have you been in there yet?"

Emilia shook her head no. _Again, before we do anything, I have a favor to ask. I need clothes. Will you take me to my apartment so I can get the necessary living utensils I need?_

Sherlock barreled in through the doorframe, throwing off his scarf and coat. He retreated to his room and back to the kitchen table.

"Yes, we can go now. Write down the address."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, looking over the two of the humans with mild interest.

"Emilia's house, to gather her things."

The men just stared at each other. To Emilia it looked like they were having a mental conversation. John looked between them both, wondering if Emilia got the gist of what they were thinking.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Can I come?"

Emilia sighed, but nodded.

This man is kind of ridiculous.

They piled into a cab and took a short drive to Emilia's place. She grabbed a week's worth of clothes and a few sets of clothes to sleep in, toiletries, and her glasses. Sherlock wandered around her apartment (quite rudely, in John's opinion), and noticed even more things about her, or mostly about her place.

Studies philosophy. Neat freak. Sits at the window and watches the people. No family photos. Draws in free time. Regularly drinks iced tea. Never had visitors. Works in an office typing reports. Still completely insecure.

Emilia grabbed her laptop and case and was ready to go. She locked up and back to Baker Street they went.

When they got back, John started to gather things for the stitches he'll have to put Emilia's leg.

"What are you doing now?" Sherlock inquired, not as on edge as before though.

"Emilia has wounds that need tending to."

"Are they serious? She needs a hospital."

"I can do it. I would like if you oversaw the stitches though. If she appears to be in any pain I want you to tell me."

"She can't do that herself?"

"She insisted I do it without medication. Just by numbing her leg."

"Hm."

"Can I tell you something?" John peeked around the place to see if Emilia was still settling into his room.

"Continue."

"You're acting very odd."

"I'm always odd to you."

"Well, more odd than normal," John tried to explain as he gathered a great deal of ice in a bowl. "You've been quite bored, lately, too. By now you would have done shot another hole in the wall, or something. But this time, you're just angry."

"I'm trying to quit nicotine and it's not working. I took on this case, interested in the way the men are getting framed, or not framed, but most likely framed, and I have no information! Pictures, test results of tests I hadn't run, so who knows how accurate those results are, a mute witness—"

"Emilia is in shock!"

"Emilia," Sherlock annunciated the 'mi' in her name as he rolled around her name in his mouth. "If she doesn't talk soon, Lestrade is getting her back and putting her in the care of someone else!"

"She's in my care," John said annoyed, trying to keep his calm, "I take full responsibility of her. Not you. Why am I even arguing with you? It's pointless." John headed to his room, got one step in and backed out. "Be in here in five minutes, Sherlock. Don't let me down."

Sherlock turned away and stalked to the living room. His hands covered his mouth and then slid off. They landed on his hips as he looked around the room. He didn't know what was making him so angry. Maybe it really was the fact that a third person was going to be living here for a while. That person happened to be a girl. Was he afraid of losing John's attention to her? Well, that wouldn't be any different than John leaving for a date.

_Alone is what I have. Alone protects me._

And that's the way Sherlock intends to keep it.

* * *

Emilia was instructed to lay on her side on the kitchen table that had been lined with towels. Her arm was under her head acting as a makeshift pillow. She was lying perfectly still as John peeled the glue from the surface of the wound, and actually pulling a bit out. Not once had she made any indication of pain.

John was sitting on a stool behind her where he had better access to the gash, where Sherlock sat in front of her, watching and studying.

Emilia's hand was gripping onto the edge of the table tightly; so tight her fist was shaking a little. That was an indication of pain, but her eyes looked different to Sherlock. They seemed to beg him not to say anything. He watched John peel out the last strand of glue, and blood started to drip from the cut. John cleaned it and put pressure on it.

"Doing okay, Emilia?"

She nodded in response. John looked to Sherlock for a second opinion. Sherlock didn't move. Just studied. She must be okay then…?

"We're going to ice it once it stops bleeding again. Now you promise me this wound isn't deep enough to require corrective surgeries of any kind? You promise?"

Emilia nodded again, closing her eyes.

"Alright. It looks like we're ready."

John readied the needle and thread, then placed the bag of ice he prepared on her thigh. Goosebumps raised almost instantly on her leg.

"Go ahead and hold this here, I need water. Does anyone need anything?"

Emilia raised her free hand, the one under her head in compliance.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm fine."

He hadn't broken his concentration on Emilia. Was he analyzing? John got two glasses of ice water and put a straw in Emilia's. He gave it to her and she drank a little over half of it from her laying position. John on the other hand, downed his quickly and got to work.

Emilia claimed she couldn't feel anything in her leg anymore after John asked her, so he started to sew the gash closed. When Emilia opened her eyes she right away caught Sherlock's gaze. He was watching her so intently that she couldn't even think. She, too, thought he was analyzing her again. She thought nothing of it.

Sherlock on the other hand was _not_ actually analyzing her. He didn't want to know anything about her. He thought he knew enough from observing her already. He just wanted to learn the rest from her, seeing as how what he knows is so plain and boring. She has to have something special about her to be targeted by a serial killer rapist. Something.

"You doing okay?" John asked her.

Emilia's hand gave a thumb up.

"Almost done."

Sherlock's phone started ringing, and he pulled it out of his pocket without looking at the caller ID.

"What?"

"_What are you doing_?" the voice on the phone asked.

"None of your business," Sherlock said with a short tone and hung up.

"Who was that?" John asked as he pulled the thread through Emilia's skin.

"No one, keep working."

Sherlock's phone rang again. "I said don't worry about it."

"_Why is John operating on a girl on your kitchen table, Sherlock_?"

Sherlock hung up the phone. He stood and took long strides into the other room and began to look around. Nothing.

"Sherlock was that Mycroft?"

"Concentrate on your work, doctor."

Emilia glanced at John with a confused look, but shook her head.

Sherlock made it back to the kitchen, and started looking around the corners and creases of the walls.

Emilia grunted from a stick of the needle in her leg, causing Sherlock to look at her.

"It's almost done, Emilia, you're doing just great."

The phone rang for the third time.

"What in the world does it matter?!"

"_Sherlock, why is she there_?"

"You know everything, shouldn't you know?"

"_Why didn't you take her to the hospital_?"

"It's none of your business."

"_Sherlock, take her to a hospital._"

"I'm fine with the doctor I have here." Sherlock hung up again.

"What does he want, Sherlock?"

"To interrupt my life in the most annoying way possible."

Emilia tried to clear her throat, but it sounded odd with no voice.

John tied off the thread on her leg, and then cleaned up his utensils. After applying a layer of Neosporin and bandages, he deemed her ready to go.

"Be careful with walking too fast. You can rip them open."

Emilia nodded, then yawned. She pointed at John's room.

"Ah, yes, get some rest. You definitely need it. I'll get you some clean blankets."

Emilia was careful in her steps as she followed John to the closet and to the room where they both changed the sheets and blankets. Emilia bid him a goodnight nod and after he left, started to change.

Sherlock's phone gave indication of a text message.

_Be careful with that girl – MH_

_ What's she going to do, give me the silence treatment to death? –SH_

_ I know nothing about her. – MH_

That was odd. Mycroft doesn't know anything about someone? He knows everything about everyone. That only means Sherlock would have to search for information on Emilia Hayes. He didn't know if he could find anything though, seeing as how the all-seeing eye of Mycroft hasn't. His boredom took the advantage though, he'll just wait for Mycroft to come back with information about her. If he would.

John joined Sherlock in the sitting room for the rest of the day to be kept in silence. Emilia slept the entire time, and all through the night.

**I know things seem very slow right now, but this is the first time I've ever attempted a Fanfiction with characters with complex personalities. I'm trying to get a feel for dialogue between the boys and trying to fit in mannerisms. I'm sure you all have the imagination to see the conversations playing out in your heads. Also trying to create some relationships between all the characters is a challenge, but I can't quit writing. I hope to keep you all entertained and updated. Thank you for reading **


	4. John Wanted Us To Get Milk

Chapter Three

Sherlock was woken by a scream in the middle of the night. He jumped out of his bed and ran to the sound; John's room.

John made it first, and found Emilia sweating and breathing heavily. Sherlock was frozen in the doorway, holding onto the doorframe and leaning into the room. Was that her?

"Emilia, are you okay? We're right here. Did something happen?"

Sherlock saw her trembling hands. "She had a nightmare."

Emilia's wide eyes looked to Sherlock. Her nightgown was soaked in sweat around her chest and down her back. She'd been trapped in the dream for a while. Her intake of breath started to calm down. She gulped for air many times before looking back down at her hands in her lap. She held them up to examine the tremors, confused. John grabbed her hands in his and caught her line of sight.

"Can you get her a glass of water, Sherlock?"

Sherlock tilted his head at the request. When did he become the maid around here?

He grabbed a glass and dropped a few ice cubes in it with loud clinks, then filled it with water. He returned to the room and held the glass out to Emilia. She freed her hands from John's calming hold and took the glass with both hands. One hand landed upon Sherlock's, causing him to be confused again. Why did she touch him?

John managed to keep a hand on her at all times, even as she drank the water. Was it a comfort technique? Sherlock just couldn't analyze it. He resumed his post holding up the doorframe.

After calming down Emilia, John asked her if she'd felt better if someone stayed in the room with her. She shrugged, and looked around. She was still really tired. How long had she slept? She leaned back on the pillows John had propped up.

"… Is there anything else I can do?" Sherlock tried to sound somewhat sincere, instead it came out annoyed.

"No," answered John. "Unless you want to stay in here with her tonight."

Sherlock pondered it for a moment, instead decided on "My bed is more comfortable."

Emilia looked to Sherlock with weary eyes. She seemed to ask him for something, but without words, Sherlock wouldn't listen.

"Goodnight, then."

After Sherlock left, John paid attention to Emilia. "I can set up the cot in here."

Emilia shook her head. She placed her hand on John's as it rested on her forearm and pet his hand, then yawned.

"I'll leave the door open at least. Is your leg okay?"

Emilia looked at it. It seemed a bit of blood was staining the bandage, but she decided to wait until morning. She nodded indicating it was okay.

"I'll be out here. It was scary to hear your voice. Maybe it won't be gone for long."

Emilia nodded again, and made herself comfortable as John left. She took another drink of the water Sherlock brought her, and then rested again.

In his room, Sherlock laid in bed staring at the ceiling, hands interlaced with each other. In his dreams, so much more happened than images his mind projected. He worked in his sleep. His subconscious was something he could control. There wasn't anything he couldn't control; he laughed at himself for that thought. What it must be like to not be him.

But it must have been hard on Emilia to have a nightmare like she did, and to even scream. That piercing scream. Tomorrow he figured he would try to talk to Emilia with the computer method he saw her and John use. He would try to be patient.

John's snore started to sound from the living room, and it caused Sherlock to sit upright on the side of his bed. What an annoying noise. He almost lay back down until he heard whimpering coming from across the hallway. Was that Emilia again?

Impulsively curious, he trekked over. The door was open, and certainly she was crying. Another bother.

"Do you need more water?"

The way Emilia turned to Sherlock showed him that he startled her. She shook her head, and Sherlock noticed the tearstains down her face. Humans were so odd. He tried another approach; the hand contact method John used earlier.

Sherlock was almost too abruptly at Emilia's bedside, and sat there. He tilted his head, pursed his lips, sighed, then promptly put his hand on her head and awkwardly pet her.

"There… there. It will be okay," said Sherlock, cringing.

Emilia blinked out the rest of her tears and her shoulders shook with laughter. Small traces of her voice came through. Sherlock took back his hand quickly and folded them in his lap as he still remained seated on the edge of the bed.

"Your voice is coming back."

Emilia wiped her eyes and nodded."I can barely whisper," she added, definitely in a whisper. It was a collection of air and soft undertones of her voice.

"I see. Well, goodbye, then."

Emilia watched Sherlock leave as swiftly as he came.

The next morning, Sherlock wasn't awoken by a scream, but something much, much better. Breakfast was being made, and the scent of bacon made his stomach growl.

With a slight tug on his dressing gown, he made his way to the kitchen with a tired look on his face. When was the last time he had been tired? It certainly has been a while. The scene in the kitchen was a little bit too normal for Sherlock not to be surprised.

Emilia was cooking, quite happily. She was making a variety of styles of eggs in a skillet, bacon and ham in the other. John was making the coffee and gathering dishes.

"Morning, Sherlock. I told her how you like your eggs. It should be done in a minute."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "How do you know how I like my eggs?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I can pay attention too. Mrs. Hudson makes us breakfast occasionally. Here's your coffee, also how you like."

Sherlock seated himself at the abnormally clean kitchen table. "Where did all my equipment go?"

"The desk. Everything is exactly how you left it."

Sherlock's eyes moved to look into the other room without his head turning. When his eyes returned to the table, Emilia was placing his food before him. John was settling in as his food was sat down too.

"This is definitely nice, I could get used to this," John said with a cheery tone.

Oh, Sherlock recognized this phase. John was beginning to like Emilia. Usually, Sherlock could find something wrong with all the women he brought here, but Emilia seemed to be okay. No ties to a previous life, no weird hobbies, just a normal, hurting, deranged girl who liked being in the kitchen. Mycroft would say she's normal.

Emilia rinsed off the skillets before seating herself to eat. She was quiet again, but happy. This was her favorite thing to do. If Sherlock didn't watch himself, he and John could definitely benefit in the weight factor from eating well, if her cooking even tasted good. Sherlock took a drink of his coffee, then a bite of his food.

Yes, it was good.

After breakfast and the kitchen was cleaned, Sherlock handed Emilia John's laptop. She looked at him bemused.

"I have things to ask, and I'm only going to be patient for so long."

Emilia nodded and started the laptop, opening a document file.

Sherlock sat on the couch with her and started throwing out questions. "Tell me in detail everything you remember, and don't leave a single distinguishing fact. Colors, sizes, noises, everything."

Emilia's face held uneasiness about it. Her fingers extended over the keys but didn't press any. She was hesitant. No, thinking. Everyone can remember everything, as long as they know how to do it. Since it was near him, Sherlock grabbed his violin and began to play it pizzicato. The sound didn't seem to bother Emilia, but Sherlock knew he would have to do some waiting.

Emilie typed fast, but also paused a few times. As she pressed the keys, Sherlock knew what she was saying.

_I was going home from work. I work in a bakery. Someone threw me in a black van; I was blindfolded, drugged with something that kept me unaware of everything until the torture began. The person who did everything to me didn't make sense to me. Said this was for what I did to them. What I did to their loved one. I'm a good person; I don't recall ever wronging anyone! I felt a gun against my head. I was hit with the gun, with this person's hands. Abnormally, soft hands for a man. I was stabbed, in the leg as you saw. They cut me. I was drugged constantly. I can't describe their voice. I_

Sherlock wondered why she quit typing. He looked at her and saw her crying again. This must be the part she doesn't like. Why can't she just write it? She's not actually saying it. He put the violin down.

"Sherlock, let her write it on her own time," John spoke up from behind the paper.

"I need this information if they want this case solved."

"You'll have to go at a slower pace this time."

"So what do you expect me to do in the mean time then? Wait?"

Emilia wiped her tears and looked back and forth between the men as they spoke.

"You're acting like a child, Sherlock."

"You're acting like a parent."

Emilia tried to laugh again, and a few giggles came out.

"At least I cheered her up," Sherlock said triumphantly.

"I'm going away."

"Where to?"

"Away. From you."

"Take her with you!"

"You can stand to be with her for some time, Sherlock. It's not the first time you've encountered a woman alone in this flat."

John put on his coat and left, even included slamming doors.

Sherlock then whipped his head to Emilia as she looked at him skeptically.

"Is my being here a problem?" she asked with a harsh whisper.

"No."

Emilia nodded. "I'll work on this."

Sherlock nodded, too, then picked up the violin again and walked around the flat with it, this time playing with the bow. The melody was fast paced and hectic, but Emilia blocked it out and began to write.

Sherlock on the other hand received a text.

_We have more information if you need it. Whenever you decide to answer your phone._

If Lestrade had information, that's where Sherlock needed to be. He put on his coat and scarf and was about to walk out the door when he remembered something; Emilia. If John was supposed to be protecting her, technically he was too?

"Are you coming?"

Emilia looked up from the laptop. She mouthed the word 'where?'

"Just come along."

Emilia scrambled up to grab herself a coat and scarf, pulled on her boots and followed the long-legged man to the street. Sherlock hailed a cab then immediately got in. Emilia followed suit and sat more refined than she has in the past twenty-four hours. She looked more at peace. Sherlock studied her for the third time in those twenty-four hours.

Curious. Calm. Near-sighted. Does, in fact, play violin.

Everything or anything else he could try to find was either washed away or covered.

Emilia pointed at Sherlock to get his attention. After getting it, she pointed at her phone she retrieved from a pocket. Sherlock took it and realized she wanted his phone number. What a completely unladylike way to propose that question. He entered it anyway, along with John's. Upon retrieving her phone back she sent a quick message to Sherlock and John both to return her phone number to them.

_I forgot to give you my number –JW_

_ I just asked Sherlock for it. Are you alright?_

_ I will be. I do this frequently, you'll discover that. –JW_

_ Well, take care of yourself._

_ Will do. Do you need anything while I'm out? –JW_

_ Get something for lunch, I'll cook._

_ Sounds like a date. –JW_

_ A date? _

Emilia silently laughed at his mishap.

_No! It wasn't meant to be that! I'm so sorry Emilia… -JW_

_ I understand, John. _

Sherlock watched her text. She was happy, this time. Human interaction makes her happy. Too bad for her that wasn't his stronghold. Nor interest.

* * *

Lestrade sighed as he let Sherlock go over the papers. The newest development? A threatening letter sent in by the murdered. Even with the standard cookie cutter newspaper clippings.

**I will finish what I started. Emilia Hayes will die.**

"Are you sure this is even from the actual murderer?" Sherlock asked as he went over the paper.

Clippings from the past weeks' headlines. Scrapbooking glue. Used latex gloves to apply everything.

"We aren't sure, but it's something, Sherlock," Lestrade moaned out, feeling like he probably shouldn't have called him.

"It will be okay," Emilia whispered to Lestrade.

The man raised his brow. "Starting to get there. Once your voice is back you need to give me a statement on tape, Miss Hayes."

Emilia nodded and went back to observing Sherlock. He twisted the paper, looked at the front, back, front again. His face contorted into different emotions as he thought. He opened his mouth, closed it, chewed on his lip, cursed silently.

_Those cheekbones_.

Emilia's eyes went wide and she blushed, putting her head down. She couldn't even control that thought. She glanced back up from under her bangs. Yeah, those cheekbones.

"Emilia, quit it," Sherlock said abruptly.

She gasped in response, and laid her head on the table. Well, that was awfully embarrassing. But to save her, she got a text from John.

_I'm home. I realized we're out of milk. Can you ask Sherlock to grab some? Where are you guys anyway? –JW_

_ Lestrade called us in. I have a death threat letter. I can remind him about some milk._

_ Thank you. Do you need me to come take a look? –JW_

Emilia looked up at Sherlock, seemingly finished with his deducing of the letter.

_I think we're almost finished._

Emilia pocketed her phone as Donovan came through the door.

"Freak, there's someone here to see you."

Lestrade and Sherlock exchanged glances and followed the female to the interrogation room. Sherlock laid eyes on a young man, and began his study.

University student. Part-times at the printing shop. Malnutrition. Skittish. Anxious. Occasional theft. Not bathed.

"You're Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Why have you requested me?"

"I'm one of the men whose DNA was found on the… the girls."

Lestrade set up a recorder and began to listen carefully. This was the second time he had seen this guy, but he was cleared. Every man was cleared. They all were either at their jobs on camera, or with other people who had proof of location and times.

"One of the women, Maryanne Willows, was my girlfriend."

Sherlock looked to Lestrade. "Did all these women have a boyfriend?"

"Only a few."

"The thing is, though," Emilia noted this man's anxiousness to get his words out, "you never told me how my DNA was so relevant to Maryanne. My DNA could have been all over her. We were together."

Lestrade cleared his throat. "I thought I told you. All the women were raped, and as a result of that, semen was found on the bodies. And we just happened to find yours on Maryanne."

Emilia then started to use her head. This man wasn't the one she heard, or the one she had occasionally felt touch her. The murder had no hair on their arms, yet this boy did. Emilia asked Lestrade for a pen and paper.

_I recognize nothing in him with the person who attacked me. _

"We've already cleared him, though, Emilia."

"Who is she?" the man asked.

"A witness," Sherlock said quickly. "Pay her no mind. What did you want?" he asked again, more annoyance showing in his voice.

"… I want to know how this was done. I want to know how to protect my identity better."

"Just always be in the right spot in the right time. I'm through," Sherlock hopped to his feet. "Lestrade, bring in all of the men whose DNA had been identified. Line them up and put them on display for Emilia. They may have been cleared, but this will clear up the holes."

"Better safe than sorry, I suppose," he agreed. "Thank you for your time, we'll call you when we know more."

Emilia nodded in acceptance of these plans. In the back of her head though, she knew this would be scary. After receiving a death threat, anyone on the street she could come across could be gunning to kill her.

"Let's go, already," Sherlock spoke over his shoulder to Emilia, and she instantly became a lost puppy on his trail.

Donovan watched with an incredulous expression. "The way she follows his bark is a bit odd."

"At least he's doing his job. Him or John, doesn't matter which. As long as she's kept safe," Lestrade replied.

* * *

_John asked us to get milk._

Sherlock looked at his phone in response to the text tone from his pocket. "Should have told him to go back out and retrieve some, save us the time. Oh well, I guess I can. Here. Head inside and grab some."

Sherlock handed Emilia money and she ran inside the small convenience store. She hesitated at the milk for a moment; what kind did they like? It was all the same to her, she didn't like milk. She bought one and met back up with Sherlock outside. Their travelling home was silent, a trait Sherlock liked in Emilia, but he's sure it wouldn't last long.

Once home, Emilia got right to work on making lunch for the boys.

On the other hand, Sherlock was receiving text messages from Holmes the eldest…

_Here is all the information I had uncovered on Emilia Hayes. Read when alone. -MH_

**The plot is taking a long time for me to unfold, and I'm sorry things seem pretty boring right now. I'll make the next chapter a little fluffy, as fluffy as strangers can get in Sherlock's case. I'm still trying to flesh out the characters correctly. So just bare with me you lovelies!**


	5. She's Actually Crazy

Chapter Four

Sherlock was anxious to open the files Mycroft had sent to him. When he wasn't looking, Sherlock took John's laptop and hid himself in the bathroom. He transferred the files from his phone to the computer, and waited for them to download properly.

"Sherlock, did you take my laptop?" John called from the other side of the door.

"No, I have no need for it."

"I'll look again then," John answered with a sigh.

Sherlock listened to him walk away, then heard Emilia still working around in the kitchen.

The files finally unzipped and Sherlock looked over the files. There were documents and images. The first image was a newspaper scan. The headline read, **HAYES DAUGHTER COMMITED TO INSANE ASYLUM**. Hayes daughter? Was her family famous?

The article continues to read, in summary, that Emilia's parents were famous actors years ago, murdered. The charges lay on Emilia, at the time thirteen. The details were short and nothing seemed to really steer the reader away from Emilia's innocence. She was just a child! Sherlock shook his head. There was another newspaper scan.

**E. HAYES AQUITTED, SO WHO DID IT? **Emilia was obviously cleared, but no actual murderer caught. Sherlock looked at the photos carefully that were included in the newspaper articles, but they certainly were censored enough to not give him much information. The other images however gave way to the real information he needed.

Photos of the dead bodies, they matched the current case's bodies. The wounds, the method of murder, everything. There was to be something more than coincidence. This is a bit absurd.

A thought sparked in the back of Sherlock's head. Emilia was accused before for the very acts that are happening now. Is this a relapse and she's doing it again? How did she clear herself before? Such a young age, too.

Scanning the rest of the files, there was a note on one of the photos. It was of a younger Emilia in a straight jacket. _Attempted self-murder countless times. Needs constant care when (if) ever released._ The next photo had pictures of blood all over Emilia's arms. Sherlock's phone rang.

"_How did you take the news?_"

"I'm sure you can see me, take a guess."

"_All of this information was removed from Scotland Yard's database._"

"What for?"

"_Don't know. Should you perhaps bring all of this to Lestrade's attention?_"

"How can I be sure these documents aren't doctored? They couldn't have just been removed, unless…" Sherlock trailed off at his mind processed all kinds of possibilities at once. Sherlock hung up and removed all traces of the files from John's laptop. He burst out of the bathroom and handed John his laptop.

"You were using this in the loo? And were you talking on the phone?"

Sherlock turned to Emilia and looked at her so abruptly that it startled her. She seemed to tremble.

"I know that look," she whispered out hoarsely. "You know now, don't you?"

"What exactly do I know?"

"What am I missing here? How come you didn't tell me you could talk again?" John asked, as it always seems to be, out of the loop again.

Sherlock took one large stride toward Emilia and she took off for John's room. She made it there before Sherlock, but as she slammed the door, she encountered Sherlock's foot. His response was an agitated grunt.

"Just tell me one thing and one thing only," he called through the crack in the door.

Emilia pushed her back up against the door, yet waited for the question.

"Was it you?"

"Which part?"

"The murders."

"… No," she answered back after a long pause.

"So which part was yours?"

Emilia threw her hands up and sighed heavily. "You're just as I thought you would be… Once I heard the recent murders happening… I had a friend remove my history… I didn't want to go back to that asylum. That's all I did. I want to know who's doing this…"

Sherlock removed his foot from the door and it closed underneath Emilia's weight, but she turned and opened it to find him still standing there. He had the look on his face still, the one that judged her. She stared into his eyes with her misty ones, then wrapped her arms around his torso and wept. Sherlock looked to John who witnessed everything, expectantly. John nodded his head, and Sherlock awkwardly put his hands on Emilia's shoulders.

"Everything will be alright," John said to them.

* * *

After Emilia calmed down, John changed her bandage on her thigh. She was healing quite well. He even took a look at the rest of her injuries and all the cuts and bruises seemed to be healing without a hint of scarring. Emilia was lucky.

Sherlock left later that afternoon.

"How is your voice?" John asked her after folding the newspaper and putting it in his lap.

"Getting there," Emilia answered with a scratchy sound.

"Good, good," John answered with a prolonged nod.

Emilia turned back to her laptop and kept at work at whatever she was doing. John knew Sherlock by now knew everything about her, while John sat there and knew nothing.

"There's a typo on your most recent blog post, John."

John jumped up and went to his laptop. He fixed it instantly. "I thought I heard somewhere along the way that you read it. Maybe you should proofread it for me," he concluded with a smile.

Emilia smiled in return. Okay, his attempts at flirting weren't getting anywhere. It was probably for the best, seeing as how she is involved with a job he has with the police. No matter how cute he may think she is.

Hours passed, and Emilia invited Mrs. Hudson up for dinner, and the two women got to work.

"The boys tend to think I'm their housekeeper and make me do the house duties all the time! Now that you're staying here it's a bit relaxing. It's nice to have another female on Baker Street that can handle these two boys."

Emilia still wasn't comfortable with speaking so she listened, finding Mrs. Hudson did in fact have a lot to talk about.

Dinner went smoothly, and John was almost convinced he was back to life before Sherlock. Life before bodies and police and intellect to rival a master computer and a consulting criminal. Why did that man's visage come to mind? Not to worry. Everything was well, right now. And there was no reason for John to let the idea of that man ruin his dinner with his little awkward family. One thing that did bug him, though, is; Where was Sherlock?

John made up the bed for Emilia while she was in the shower to return the favor for all the things she had done so far. Just to anger him, and to be a bit more comfortable, John lay up in Sherlock's bed for the night. God knows when he'll be home, so why not? Sherlock seemed to barely sleep anyway. Why did he even have a bed?

As soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sherlock was out tracing lines of leads and crossing out roads of dead ends. He researched all of the previously convicted men blamed for the crimes Emilia was victim to, and found no real physical or seemingly mental connection. If Emilia could only project her thoughts to him. He would have had this all done already. If only someone in this world would understand like him, then he just might have faith in this humanity he puts so little in to. Sherlock was _not_ one for being human. If anything, humanity sickened him, and he was happy to have a higher function among them with his greater brain power and skills. Oh, what it was like to be Sherlock.

Phone numbers, friends, family; no real connections. He guessed the best he could do was wait for another attack. Should he bait Emilia? The killer would always come after his unfinished business, wouldn't he?

Is Emilia even safe right _now_? Wanting to bash his head into a wall for always seeming to think one hundred miles a minute, he headed home. When Sherlock got to the outside air from Bart's, he then realized what time it was. After midnight. He missed Emilia's dinner. Surely there would be some lef—

"Can I not just keep a single thought process tonight?" Sherlock yelled and scolded himself.

It was true he kept reverting everything back to Emilia unconsciously. Perhaps because she was the root of all his thinking patterns lately. Maybe it was he was actually a bit upset he missed dinner. With John it had always been take-out or easy to prepare meals. With Emilia around it was more cleaner, better, healthier meals.

"And there I go again…"

Sherlock hailed a cab and went home. The whole ride home he processed Emilia out of his head so that he could focus on reviewing everything he gathered today.

Successful; Emilia who?

Sherlock went right back to John's laptop when he got home and looked up more information until he couldn't find anything else new. Still no ties. When his stomach growled in protest of hunger a few hours later, he moved to the fridge where he found leftover food from something. Maybe Mrs. Hudson made extra food and brought some up?

At that point Sherlock heard a funny noise coming from his room. The possibilities rose in his mind and he worked through them like a hand leafing through a dictionary for the words beginning with the letter 'q.'

Either someone was sawing a hole in a wall, or John was sleeping in there.

So, John was definitely sleeping in his room, in his bed. Must have gotten too tired to realize he walked into Sherlock's room. Fine, two can play that game. Sherlock decided he would just sleep in John's bed in revenge. He headed to John's room to begin the revenge process when he then discovered Emilia. He forgotten he forgot about her. To Sherlock it looked like she was in another nightmare again. Again, possibilities of outcomes to this scenario. She could A) kick and punch as he woke her, or B) wake him up later with another screaming wake up call.

He grabbed John's old cane and poked her sides from a distance. She moaned and turned, but didn't wake. Sherlock jabbed harder.

Emilia woke with a gasp and sat upright. Reflexively, she grabbed a giant kitchen knife from the bedside table and flailed it around.

"Good thing I _did _use an object other than myself to pull you from that."

"Oh, god, Sherlock Holmes!" Emilia moaned out with a scratchy voice. She sounded like there were a lot of bubbles of air in her throat that caused her voice to cut out.

"Are you better now?"

Emilia caught her breath. "I guess so. Did you just come back?"

"I've been here a while. I forgot you were here. Well now that I have saved you I will be leaving."

Sherlock made it to the doorframe before she stopped him.

"Will you stay in here with me tonight?"

Sherlock froze there and thought. He wasn't going to sleep on the floor, that's for damn sure. "Dibs on the bed, then."

"I meant, on the bed. With me. You… You don't have to, but I would kind of like it, really."

Sherlock turned to lock eyes with Emilia, then glanced around the room, still unsure of what she meant.

"Okay."

When Sherlock finally changed for bed, Emilia made room for the tall, lengthy and awkward man. She faced away from the spot she made for him and almost drifted back to sleep. Sherlock laid down faced away from her.

Emilia giggled. "Roll over, you idiot."

"Who are you calling an idiot, idiot? You asked me to stay in here so I am. What more would you like because I am certainly no servant."

Instead, Emilia rolled to face Sherlock and snaked an arm around him and lay against him. "I just want someone to keep me company through the night, alright? You can leave once I fall asleep; I would just feel safer this way."

Sherlock grumbled at her arm, and began to pout like a child. The things that humans come up with disturb and confuse him. He'd gotten by just fine without other humans acting this way toward him, so why is she changing him so much?

* * *

Sherlock snuck out before the sun broke the horizon. He couldn't stand laying in there anymore, so his couch became his friend. John came out into the sitting room and saw him there, and felt accomplished in his idea to sleep in Sherlock's bed. It didn't matter though, as a nagging thirst required quenching. Thinking they only had water, he checked the fridge and was quite happy with what he saw.

Sherlock spied on John after hearing the fridge open up. He wasn't going to make breakfast, was he? That was Emilia's job now. Instead, he found John seemingly absentmindedly staring into the fridge.

"Please tell me you're not having a blinking contest with that severed head, John."

John turned to the voice of Sherlock, then back to the refrigerator. "No. Look at this," he pointed. "It's amazing. It's beautiful."

Sherlock joined John and tried to discover what he thought was so great. His eyebrows rose while his head gave a nod. "We have milk. Did you get it?"

"No, and it certainly wasn't you as you never seem to do that. I like Emilia being here."

"Can she be our maid?"

John chuckled and closed the fridge after grabbing the milk. He poured himself a short glass, then one for Sherlock. "She has her own job and home to attend to. You take that up with her."

Sherlock lavished in the glass of milk like a purring kitten as he sat in his chair. "Why can't you ask her?"

"Surely you know how to talk to a girl, Sherlock?"

"I do know how to talk to a girl, and don't call me Sherly."

The boys laughed at Sherlock's joke and Emilia came into the room then. She looked so much more rested than she had since the first day she stayed here. But to her dismay, her hair was a fluffy mess and her eyes were still halfway closed. Her dressing gown was hanging off her shoulder in a sloppy manner.

"Good morning, Emilia," John told her as he was turned around in his chair. "There's milk in the fridge," he said still in disbelief with the fact, "go ahead and pour yourself some."

"It's okay," she replied with a yawn. "I actually don't really like milk."

John looked at Sherlock with a dropped jaw. In response, Sherlock had a disgusted look on his face.

"Don't like milk?" Sherlock echoed. "How do you live, creature?"

Emilia smiled down at what she was doing with her hands; preparing omelets for breakfast. The boys shared their doubt while Emilia watched Sherlock with an amused glint in her eyes. He caught her gaze while John went to fetch the morning paper.

They shared a smile together with each other before returning to their morning habits.

**Sorry about the ****somewhat late update, I no longer have internet at home and I'm using it at a friend's house right now. I hope you all are enjoying the story, although it seems slow and kind of lame, but bear with me! It's taking a while to develop correct character personalities and I want to give so much more background on Emilia before the real fluffy stuff happens… Which I've already written… Hm, oneshot anyone?**


	6. Maybe It's Mycroft

Chapter Five

Emilia looked at Lestrade with a scared expression. He waited for a go-ahead from her in any way, shape, or form. With a deep exhale and a fanning her face with her hands, she looked to him and nodded. She was willing to try.

John stood in the room with her, trying his best to be support. If the man was really in the other room, she would need someone to be her strength.

The window they stood before became illuminated and the people in the room could see into the next room. There were ten men lined up against a white wall with black lines crossing horizontally, indicating height.

Emilia scanned the faces one by one, very slowly. John looked over the faces quickly and to Emilia in between each face he scanned. As she hovered over each one, she began to become more relaxed. She was recalling she never saw the man's face, but only voice.

"They need to speak," Emilia told Lestrade.

The detective nodded. "Suspect one, read the sign before you."

"I stand before you convicted of a crime for which I am suspected of."

Emilia shook her head. "No. Next."

The other nine men spoke, and Emilia was visibly more comfortable. None of these men had the voice of her attacker. Of course there were nine other suspects, but Emilia wouldn't see them until tomorrow.

Sherlock entered the room where the ten men stood. He started to observe the men a bit too closely for their comfort, it seemed.

"What is he doing?" Lestrade asked as a corner of his mouth pointed downward.

Emilia shrugged, but found amusement in the men's discomfort. John started to shift his weight around like he does whenever he knew Sherlock was going to get in trouble.

"The only connection you all have with each other is that you were close to the woman who you were framed to have murdered. What else? Do you have a common enemy? A long distant cousin? What is it!"

"That's enough, Sherlock," said the police officer escorting him out of the room and to the room the others were in.

John gave Sherlock a scolding look, while Emilia was still smiling at what he had done. Lestrade had just about the same look John had.

"What was that about?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"I can't find any connections! This game is—" Sherlock froze mid-sentence.

John knew that look. Almost all of Sherlock's faces, John knew. This particular one meant Sherlock had started processing everything so quickly that he came up with a new direction. It also usually meant he was going to take off running and they wouldn't see him again for a while. Instead, Sherlock pulled out his phone and began texting, walking out of the room slowly.

Emilia looked to John and he shrugged.

"I know this is always a game to him, but really?" Lestrade shook his head and let Emilia and John out.

John couldn't shake it, what about what Sherlock was going to say was familiar?

Emilia took John's arm and pulled him along with her as they left the station and started walking down the street.

"You do know it will take a long time to walk home, right?" John asked her.

"Who said we're going home?"

John's eyebrows knit together. "So what _are _we doing?"

"Take me window shopping. I want to go look at things I can't have."

"Is that a hobby?"

"It gets my mind off things, yes."

John looked at his watch. "I suppose. If Sherlock needs us he can call us then."

For hours John was tugged around by Emilia through jewelers, thrift shops, and clothing stores. Emilia was in a store trying on dresses when she got a text.

_What are you doing? –SH_

_ Playing. Why?_

_ Just checking. –SH_

_ Are you trying to tell me you're worried? :)_

Emilia laughed as she sent that one then tried on another dress.

_No. –SH_

Well, he's no fun today.

_Watch out. –SH_

Watch out? For what?

Just then a woman knocked on the door of the room Emilia was trying on dresses.

"Sorry, occupied!"

"Come on out," a female's voice replied.

John was just out there, where had he gone for someone to get to her?

"Find another room!"

"I'm afraid that's no option."

Emilia watched as the locked door handle became unlocked and opened up to reveal a pretty woman who seemed preoccupied with her phone. Behind her, Emilia could see John standing behind a man clad in a very expensive looking suit.

"Emilia Hayes," the man greeted her.

Emilia watched John shake his head, and the lady with the phone moved out of the way.

"Who are you?"

"Mycroft Holmes. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Who is he John?" Emilia asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was clothed, but in a dress that was not hers.

"Sherlock's brother. He's nice to you…" John trailed off as his arms were then crossed.

"Emilia, I believe we have some things we need to discuss."

"I don't know you."

"Come on outside, princess," the woman tried to direct Emilia toward the door.

"My clothes…"

"Those are yours now. Come along, now."

Emilia grabbed her purse and original clothes and went to John's side. She latched on to his arm again and he looked at her solemnly.

"This usually isn't that bad."

Emilia still felt quite uneasy. Where the hell was Sherlock? Is this what his text was about?

_You can come rescue me anytime now!_

_Just figure out what he wants. –SH_

* * *

Mycroft handed Emilia a folder. She looked up at him as he didn't move from where he stood before her. She opened the folder and took one look at the first page and slammed it closed.

"How did you get those, why do you have them?" she asked with fear and haste.

"I'm wondering how you hid them so well."

"What do you want from me?"

John reached for the folder and took it, starting to leaf through the files.

"I want to know the truth," Mycroft's voice had a playful ring to it as he sat in a chair.

"I didn't kill my parents. I didn't!" Emilia then rubbed her throat, feeling like she's strained her voice enough lately.

"That's all I needed."

"You pretty much kidnapped me for _this_?"

"He does this a lot," John chimed in.

"I am anxious to see your case end as much as you are, so we're going to have to cooperate."

"…" Emilia stared at Mycroft with an untrusting feeling in her gut.

"I am going to propose an idea. Whoever is adding more stress to your past so badly that you had to have it deleted needs to be brought to my attention. So, in turn, I need your help. Will you do that for me?"

"I don't know what you're asking of me."

"I'm going to try and clear your name. First, who was your friend that removed this information?" Mycroft held up the folder as John handed it to him.

"He won't be in trouble, will he?"

"Not by me, by any means."

Emilia swallowed the saliva in her mouth. She exhaled, and spoke a name, "Kyal Moore."

"Where is Kyal now?"

"He left to America for vacation, he said. I haven't spoken to him since."

"Anthea, look him up."

"On it, sir," the pretty lady's voice came from a speaker box near Mycroft.

"Now," Mycroft continued, "you're going to lure out this murderer. They always come back for their unfinished business."

"You're going to use her as bait?" John asked.

"Attempt to. With you and Sherlock watching her, it will be fine. I need everyone's help in deciding how to do this."

With the cue, they came up with a plan to try to make Emilia more obvious to the world.

* * *

Emilia toted her bags upstairs from the shop they were 'kidnapped'from. She was surprised that Mycroft bought every dress she had fancied, but she wasn't going to complain. In her mind, she deserved it for how he treated her.

"I'm going to get a shower," she told John as they sat the bags on his bedroom floor.

She went about her business, and by the time John returned to the sitting room, he found Sherlock home. He wasn't a moment ago.

"Where were you all day?"

"Gathering information. What did Mycroft want?"

John shook his head with a smile. How those boys know everything each other does is beyond him. "Wait for Emilia. It's extremely important."

"_Everything_ with Mycroft is important."

John sat in his chair and opened the newspaper. "I don't think you've noticed but you've changed."

"No I haven't."

"You're more rude than usual."

"What?" Sherlock said with a scrunched face of disbelief. "Come off it."

To end the conversation, Sherlock's phone received a text to which he jumped up to retrieve. Since when does Sherlock cross the room just for his phone?

John returned to the paper and waited for Emilia and Sherlock to end up in the same room so they all could converse and—

John was interrupted by a female scream, Emilia's scream, which put him on alert. He ran to where the scream came from and threw his hand in the air with a frustrated shake of his head.

Sherlock was in the bathroom where Emilia was, while all she was clad in was her towel. Sherlock made no indications of leaving while he hovered over the bathroom sink.

"Can you give the girl her privacy? Uh, sorry, uhm, Emilia…" John looked around at anything but her.

"Sherlock, out!" Emilia shooed him out.

"Hold on, I'm busy!" he said fiddling with a small bottle over the sink.

"Well I'm naked and would very much prefer if I did so in private!"

"Then leave!" he yelled back at her. "I don't see why you're even in here anyway!"

Emilia groaned loudly and exited the bathroom forcibly by shoving into Sherlock's back and John's shoulder. She slammed the door to John's room.

Sherlock was looking at John incredulously. "This is our flat and our privacy. Technically she's the one intruding."

"It may seem that way to you, but she is also a very important guest and the key witness you have to solving this case. You need her as much as she needs us."

Sherlock sighed and set the bottle in his hands down.

"What are you not telling me?" John crossed his arms and waited. He wouldn't let Sherlock go this time.

The consulting detective looked to the army doctor with an uncertainty in his eyes.

"I really believe… I really think… I think he's behind this."

John knew Sherlock wouldn't joke about bringing up Moriarty. Now it's time to look out for warning signs.

"Either way, this needs to end. Soon," Sherlock added after letting the shock sink into John.

"We have a plan."

"Mycroft's doing?"

John nodded. "It seems like a good idea. Once Emilia is done being mad at you we need to talk about it."

At that moment, Emilia burst out of the back of the flat, dressed and hair in a bun at the base of her head. She grabbed her coat and her scarf.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, alarm apparent in his eyes.

"Away. You're driving me bloody crazy."

"I will go with you," John went for his coat.

Emilia put her hand up and halted John. "I need time away from you both. I'll go around the block a time or two and return."

Sherlock watched her pick headphones out of her pocket, pull on her boots, and stomped out the door.

John looked at Sherlock with another accusing look, but hesitated when he saw a look glisten in Sherlock's eyes; uncertainty. Once Sherlock noticed John watching though, it disappeared, like it was never there.

It was true, John thought, Sherlock does have faces he hid when Sherlock thought he wasn't looking. Because of that, John gave him privacy to this trait by not paying attention as often. It was affection in the way of brotherhood. Many soldiers alongside him in the war were like this. They wanted to appear brave, but all the while wanted someone to know they were truly human; they cared too much to show.

"I'm going to follow her. I'm afraid they won't pay us if we have a dead witness."

"Pay _me._ They chose to pay _me_," John corrected Sherlock for the one hundredth time.

They boys grabbed their coats and filed out the door. John took a post on the steps, watching both corners of the street. He knew he was in plain sight, and that's just precisely what he wanted. Emilia would see him, be angry, and then circle around again. After realizing that he won't move, she'll have to encounter him to return to the flat. He'll stop her; require her promise to remain safe under his care. It will be a lesson but a lesson very important. There is someone wanting to hurt this girl, and there are _two _someones wanting to protect her. Take those odds, evil bad guy!

John scolded himself for thinking things through in a 'Sherlock manner.' It will work, though.

Sherlock on the other hand, stalked her. He remained one-fourth to one-half of a block behind her. He knew that Emilia knew he was there. He also knew he was certainly pissing her off more, but this too, like John, was his plan. To annoy her into not being angry anymore.

John looked at his watch. Emilia was coming back around in just shy of ten minutes.

She passed again.

And again.

And again.

John sat on the steps this time, and started watching time again to await Emilia and Sherlock's next round.

Emilia was listening to her music, louder than necessary, and started to unconsciously sing out loud. Sherlock rolled his eyes. What a diva, he thought.

Emilia was looking around and taking in the sights and views that she's let her eyes pass over four times now. She always seemed to find something to interest her no matter how many times she's seen it. Sherlock, again, rolled his eyes. The simple minds of humans. She was the very embodiment of what he despised most in humans.

Emilia stopped and kneeled next to a trashcan, the other side of which Sherlock couldn't see. He stopped, wanting to keep his distance, but his curiosity was strong. When Emilia stood, she had a small kitten in her arms to which she cooed to, pet and giggled with. She circled back around the block once more, still holding the creature, and John observed. He looked to Sherlock, whom just shrugged.

Once more around, she let the kitten go, and started back up the stairs to the flat.

"Are you alright now?" John asked her.

"I have been this entire time. I just needed exercise. It kills me how you both can just sit in there all day."

John grumbled under his breath as Emilia smiled at him cheerfully.

* * *

"I could have thought this whole thing up on my own," Sherlock scoffed as John finished going over the plan.

"Then recite it back to me, if you know so much," Emilia said with a smirk on her lips.

Sherlock's eyes traveled to her mouth as her lips twitched, but he then closed his eyes.

"Well?" John added fuel to the fire.

"You have decided to put Emilia in her old teenage hobbies of modeling, to show the killer she still lives, flaunt and bait her. A risky move on her behalf but as many people have told us; with John and myself watching over her, we will prevail. We're going to insert Emilia into the upcoming show to which you believe the murderer will try to publicly destroy her or secretly steal away to her room. The only chance we have of cornering the man is if he picks the latter of the decisions; if it is indeed the prior, then we have no chance of saving Emilia."

John shook his head while Emilia sat back in her chair. It _was _a big risk she'll have to take. But in a comical side of her head, she was more frustrated about getting into modeling again.

John was nervous about the plan going awry. All the possibilities of what-ifs were running through his mind. His mind wasn't as quick and didn't think as efficiently as Sherlock's, but he tried to do the best he could.

Sherlock on the other hand, had already thought of every possibility. Only a few ended in the death of Emilia Hayes, a considerable amount in the murderer getting away or being killed, and only six ending with a dead James Moriarty.

If it _was_ him behind this.

**Hello, faithful stalkers. Okay, I didn't have internet for the longest time, I even tried to upload this chapter with my phone, my iPad (which doesn't do well AT ALL), and anything else I could! But here it is. To be honest, I have clear up to Chapter Eight written in all the time I was lacking internet, but I need ammo for when you guys get restless! I'll not stop writing though. **

**Do you guys like the new chapter titles? It's the first time I've actually named chapters. I figured we needed some kind of uplifting sillies around here for the tragedy I have planned… And you all are going to hate me for who it happens to. You'll never know!**

**Leave me a review, loves. I appreciate it.**


	7. Runway To The Hospital

Chapter Six

Emilia finished the suspect screening at the station. No one matched the voice in her head that she heard. It was the only thing she could remember about the night she was almost killed. Now…

A few weeks had passed, and Mycroft had his strings pulled so tightly. The people tied to the strings even moved like puppets as they bent and broke to his commands. To how that man has so much power is beyond anyone…

Emilia was already in waiting as the so-called fashion show was almost to begin. She was frustrated, seeing as how this had to have been the idea that was come up with. It was starting to disturb her how she may die in a few moments. This would definitely clear her name, though, if they do truly catch the man responsible… if anyone is even suspicious of her past. Her name, which could easily be tied to her family, should have been the dead giveaway. Emilia reminded herself to look up Kyal later and thank him again, if she makes it through the day.

Emilia started thinking back to the past, when the last time she had 'modeled.' She was a teenager, and her mother asked her to partake in one show, just to see if Emilia had a feel for it like she did. Emilia was sixteen then, and to Emilia it seemed like a beauty pageant more than anything. She modeled, showed off talents, and read a prepared speech her mother wrote. By the end of the day, Emilia didn't like it, but her mother was so happy that she succeeded and won, she pressed more upon her. Emilia swallowed her pride and smiled for her mother, to make her proud.

A few months later, Emilia's parents were murdered and everyone blamed her.

Sherlock called in Lestrade to keep watch. The officer made himself appear as a stagehand to keep an eye on Emilia's dressing room area with all the other women. One of the strings Mycroft had arranged was for Emilia to have a room of her own, to isolate her and try to capture the culprit.

But on his own, Sherlock was alongside the stage, close enough to protect Emilia.

John had taken the safest and most responsible job of the whole scheme; sniper. It was honestly well out of his regular duties when plans unravel around anyone with the surname Holmes, but something he was once good at. He was located in the rafters of the building, unbeknownst to the guests of the occasion. He wondered though, if Moriarty was really the one who was to blame. To him, he thought the crime seemed too unlike his style, but there is no extent to what one human will do.

The show finally began, and the boys had to sit through an agonizing while of watching girls walk up and down a stage. Why was Emilia even in this when she was younger? Sherlock thought it was a stupid hobby.

"Announcing the return of an old favorite, Emilia Hayes," broadcasted a man's voice.

This was part of the plan, flaunting her out like this to get attention.

John put his finger on the trigger, released the safety. Lestrade put his hand on his gun holster. Sherlock gripped the edge of his seat in anticipation.

Emilia took one step onto the stage, and Sherlock's phone rang.

"What?" he bit quickly and quietly without checking the caller.

"You really think I'd fall for this?"

Sherlock's pupils shrank as his blood ran cold. That was his voice.

"What do you want with her? Why are you killing these people?"

"Ohhh, you think it's me killing the girls? Boy, have you got it almost all wrong!" Moriarty sang.

Emilia passed by Sherlock, her long hair flowed as smoothly as the dress she was showing off, and he looked straight up to where John was.

"Then who is it, who's came to you for advice?"

"Keep your eye on the birdie now!"

Moriarty hung up as Sherlock caught the lingo. His eyes were stuck to John, seeing as how he was now the target. How could he call him to safety without causing alarm?

Emilia and John, oblivious to what was going on, kept going along with the plan. Emilia on the other hand was getting too nervous. She glanced to where Sherlock was sitting and saw the alarm on his face, the panic. Something was wrong.

To give off a signal they should have made up in the first place, Emilia twisted her foot in a manner that snapped the heel on her shoe and caused her to fall.

A collective gasp was called from the crowd as they all rushed to their feet. The action had in fact alerted John. He moved his eye from the scope and just barely happened to catch the glare of a red laser pointing at his body. He engaged the safety and crawled away from his position on the rafter, slowly making his way to the ladder on which he used to ascend to his position. The red laser followed him, causing him to panic even more.

Sherlock watched Emilia's performance with one eye and kept the other on John. Emilia was fine, John wasn't.

Emilia laughed the incident off, peeled off the shoes and continued her walk to the end of the platform and back. Sherlock knew he had only moments before Emilia would be alone again. He would have to report to her room quickly if Moriarty still tried something.

He just still couldn't believe it. He was right (again), but knew instantly someone had hired Moriarty's help. _'Boy, have you got it almost all wrong!' _

John touched down on the ground just as Sherlock reached him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, how's Emilia?" John asked as he started dismantling the sniper rifle and packing it away.

"We're going to her now. Come on."

Sherlock and John walked as calmly as they could. By now they certainly could have attracted attention to themselves, but John didn't see the red laser anywhere anymore.

Emilia returned to her room with a pounding heart. What happened for Sherlock to have such a distressed look? Did he see someone? Was she really in that much trouble? The stress caused her to drop to her knees before the vanity, her hand on a drawer handle. When the door opened, she started to panic all over again and pulled a handgun to point at whoever entered.

"Whoa, when did you even get that?" John cried as he put his hands up in defense.

Emilia dropped it to the ground and collapsed with it, breathing heavily. She's feared for her life too much today to be comfortable with it.

"Best be okay with it," Sherlock stated as if he could be reading her mind. "According to John here, spending a day out with me includes the most life threatening activities he's had since he was in the army. I like to call it work."

"What happened?" Emilia asked as she propped herself up on her hands and knees, then assumed a sitting position on her knees. She smoothed out the clothes she was instructed to wear, knowing full well now they were either ripped or ruined somehow due to her mischief.

Sherlock huffed. "We need to get out of here."

John watched Sherlock as he paced the entire room restlessly. "Who is it? Who called you?"

Emilia looked to John, then Sherlock, then at Lestrade as he appeared in the doorway.

"It's him. He called me."

"I'm gone, we're already gone," John spoke turning instantly toward the door. For all the things Moriarty has made them go through, John didn't want any more of it. It was totally time to go.

Lestrade went out first donned in his bulletproof vest under his clothes, and hailed a cab for the trio of his companions to use to go home. Once it was parked alongside the curb, Lestrade gave them the okay to get in. He had no idea why there were so jumpy about going home to a place where Moriarty could find them anyway.

John dove in with his sniper rifle in a duffle back. Emilia followed with Sherlock right on her heels…

But Emilia didn't make it.

Her scream was subtle to say the least, as a .308 caliber bullet shred through her shoulder. Her body fell backward onto Sherlock, where he caught her with shock. Her blood leaked down the front of his coat. For a moment he didn't know how to react. Was it him or her they were really aiming at?

"Sherlock, come on!" Lestrade yelled at him.

Sherlock picked up Emilia and jumped into the cab with Lestrade close behind. Looks like plans have changed.

"I'm with the police, to Bart's now!" Lestrade yelled while flashing his badge.

Emilia was whining as she was laid across the seat, her head in John's lap.

Sherlock was still in a mild case of shock; his mouth hadn't closed completely, his hands were stuck midair above Emilia, his eyes were wide with fear.

"Do something, John!" he called out, suddenly gathering his composure.

Lestrade watched Sherlock with clinched brows, amazed at the emotion required to act out like that. But his first priority right now was of course, Emilia.

"I'm trying my best!" John pressed his hands down on Emilia's wound. The bullet went clean through, but didn't pause for any bones or major arteries, John gathered. He cringed as Emilia cried out in pain from the pressure, but they both knew it was for the best.

In the back of his head, John had a horrible flashback to his own injury from the war. He appeared paralyzed to the other two men in the car, and his pressure subsided on Emilia's wound. John swam around in his head, reliving the memories of the shot in his leg all over again. He couldn't stop thinking back to how he felt as though he burdened his teammates with the weight of his body as the drug him back to base, how they had to use the best of their knowledge to attend to his wound like—

"Sir? Sir, are you alright?"

When John blinked back to reality, the cabbie and himself were the only people left in the car.

"Yes, I'm fine. Uh."

John looked around and saw they had already arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He scolded himself internally. That was possibly the first time he let himself delve that deep into his repressed memories.

"You going to be okay?" the cabbie caught John's attention again.

"Yes. You need payment."

"Your silver-haired friend told me to bill the 'Yard. I'll hold you guys to it, now. Just get out already."

John crinkled his nose and climbed out of the car and ran into the building. His first collision was with Molly.

"John, what's going on?"

"Oh, Molly, hello, uhm—"

"Someone said Sherlock came in rushing carrying a girl. What happened?"

"Molly, I'll find you downstairs later, for now I think its best we leave Sherlock be."

Molly tilted her head, preparing to ask more questions. The mousy girl lowed her head and nodded.

"Yes, you boys are always right."

John watched as the girl turned on her heel and made off back down to the morgue. John shook his head at himself, knowing he just upset the poor girl.

"It'll be fine," said another voice, distracting John from finding his two flat mates.

When he turned he saw Mycroft joining his side, umbrella on his arm.

"So what do we know now?"

"Do you always come to me because you know I'll be less evasive and aloof as your brother?"

"Sometimes. I think you know better," Mycroft chuckled.

"It was a trick. He made us believe I was being targeted when all along it really was Emilia."

"She's trying to be silenced. She must know more than she lets on."

"It's become a game now," John said stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. He glanced down at his slacks and found a large blood stain on his left leg; where Emilia was laying on him. "Moriarty contacted Sherlock. She doesn't know any more than she's shared. We put her in danger, today. Your ideas put that girl in danger."

"We all consented to this idea, John, do you remember? Keep me updated on her healing."

Mycroft took his leave then, leaving behind an upset and frustrated John Watson. For a brief second he thought, _if I never would have moved in with—_but he never finished that process. His life experiences he has had with Sherlock he would not, nor could not trade for anything in the world.

"Sir, are you with the party that came in earlier…?"

John looked at the nurse that addressed him.

"Could you tell me the name of the injured party before I let you join them?"

"Emilia Hayes, along with Sherlock Holmes and Detective Inspector Lestrade. Where the hell are they?"

* * *

Sherlock was pacing outside the room Emilia was in. John watched each step he took back and forth for almost an hour now. Lestrade gathered statements from them both, annoyed to a tee, and left. He had work to do back at the office now. The doctors were trying to eliminate the possibility of infection in her wound after discovering the bullet wound had been coated in an unidentifiable substance. Once tests came back though, the substance was a strand of poison that had been sweat off with Emilia's high body temperature. Sherlock determined that with the small dosage of that particular poison, Emilia would have simply gotten really sick for a week and then it would have subsided and left her system for good. _But_, Sherlock had stated in his frenzy of speaking, _with the personnel as meticulous and thorough as they believe themselves to be, they feel the need to slot in more figures onto a bill that is going _straight _to Mycroft. Like hell if they expect any of us to receive such junk mail. _

"Why won't you sit down, Sherlock?" John motioned to the seat next to him.

Sherlock eyed the seat as if it were the first time he'd ever seen quite an invention. But, once seeing the weary look in John's eyes, he took the seat.

The silence was heaven to John's ears, for now he didn't have to hear Sherlock's heels clicking on the linoleum. He was beginning to get a headache from his lack of food today.

"John?"

The former army doctor looked to the detective who was now pulling his legs onto the seat with him.

"Were you experiencing an episode of post-traumatic stress in the cab?"

John pursed his lips as his hands became clasped together in his lap.

"You haven't been seeing your therapist for the longest while, now that I think about it. That was the first time I've seen you have an episode like that."

"It's nothing to worry yourself with."

"I must say though, I didn't think that would trigger it. If anything, I thought—"

"I don't need to see a therapist!" John yelled out, louder than he intended to. "First, Emilia gets shot. Next, I have a memory—a _memory _, mind you, and then I upset Molly. Mycroft gets on my ass for not doing anything right, and now you want to dog on me for _post-traumatic stress_?"

"You upset Molly? Why?"

John shook his head and took Sherlock's pacing pattern before the former.

"Usually when I talk like this you ignore me."

"Well I'm at attention, now, Sherlock. I'm at full bloody attention. Is there anything else you care to ask me?"

Sherlock lowered his head as he thought about that question for a moment.

"I think we are out of milk again, would you remember to get some when we're done here?"

John threw his hands in the hair and treaded away to the end of the hall and back.

"We're really out of milk already?"

Just then, the doctor came out of the room Emilia was held in. Sherlock jumped to his feet and awaited news.

"She's stabilized now, and—"

"Of course she is, can we see her yet?"

The doctor looked at Sherlock with knit brows, but stepped aside and held his hand out to the door. Sherlock led the way into the room, John on his heels.

Inside the white room was Emilia laying on a bed, attached to a beeping machine. Sherlock frowned at the fact they had her attached to a heart monitor. Not like she needed it. Emilia was fighting sleep, or at least just waking up from being under.

"How are you feeling?" John asked the girl's side.

Emilia spoke to John with stuttering words and soft tones, all the while Sherlock remained a distance away from the bed.

He felt like he was overly excited to enter the room for no reason now. She was okay, so he could go now. He knew she was going to be okay, though. Something else pushed him to be so eager. For almost an entire second, he wished she would ask him to join her in bed to help her fall asleep again. But the thought was gone just as it had surfaced in his head.

While Sherlock was playing around in his mind palace, Emilia was waiting for him to join her bedside, too. John's hand holding hers of course was comfort in itself, but Sherlock would have been better. She scolded herself for thinking that, but maybe it was just the sedatives still lingering in her body that gave her the thought. Her shoulder started to pulse with a tinge of pain every now and then.

John read the pain in her face, and looked to Sherlock for assistance. What John saw instead of a bored man, was a confused man. John looked back to Emilia's face and found her watching Sherlock as well. The pair joined at the bed were more worried about the well being of the man further away than the own injured party.

Sherlock snapped from the depths of his mind and noticed the two staring at him. Catching John's gaze, he read sympathy. Sherlock disregarded it, thinking he didn't need that particular emotion. When his eyes caught Emilia's though, he felt like he understood everything in just that instance.

Sherlock left the room running.

**So how are you all feeling about the story? I know the action is little and romance seems far off, but be ready for something in the next chapter. I feel you guys deserve it. **

**PS, kykyxstandler, you're awesome and I really appreciate you. **

**You guys are really nice stalkers, the lot of you. Drop a review, you weirdoes. :)**

**Also, Benedict's birthday is on the 19th. Is anyone else as excited as me?**


	8. He Forgot The Milk Again

Chapter Seven

Emilia was discharged the next day with a bandaged shoulder and a sling to hold her arm in. Sherlock was no where around when the time came, so John was charged with the task of sniper's sight. He tried to think like Sherlock when it came to it, but the most he could come up with was that the attacker wouldn't possibly try a second, or third really, attempt at Emilia's life. So soon, anyway.

On the way home, though, Emilia made the cab stop at the store so she could get a gallon of milk for the house.

John made Emilia a bowl of soup to drink as she sat on Sherlock's couch. Mrs. Hudson made sure John's bed was welcoming enough for the disabled girl with many pillows gathered from every corner of her own apartment. Emilia, on the other hand, had taken up being mute again; this time completely voluntarily.

Another day later, Sherlock had still not surfaced back at the flat. Where he was staying at was a mystery to John and Emilia, but they never discussed it. They both assumed he would show up sooner or later. Hopefully sooner than later.

On a whim, John decided to leave. He wouldn't tell Emilia where he was going, but to her knowledge all she knew was that he left to get some air. He really went to the therapist. Ever since his war flashback, there were words, thoughts, and images he wanted out. His blog wasn't going to help now, for all he wanted to write about was his frustration with Mycroft, Sherlock, and Emilia. Of course that was why his therapist, Ella, had suggested the blog idea, but now with so many followers, John didn't want to scare them off with his nameless rants. Not to mention, said people _do_ read his blog, and the fact that he felt compelled to vent to the public and not to the problems themselves seemed selfish and wrong to him.

Emilia wasn't worried about her safety for that time, because she knew that somewhere in her heart, Sherlock was nearby keeping tabs on everything. If not, then she was ready to welcome the attacker back into her life. The more she thought about what she had going for her in her life, she realized how mundane and pointless, meaningless even, her existence was. Emilia diagnosed herself with depression. Ever since completing school, Emilia had only been an assistant at a publishing office, a job for which she knew she was completely fired for. Her living situation was only at a hotel. She thought that would have been the cheapest accommodation at the time (it actually was), so she could save money and leave the country. Those plans feel so foreign now.

When she was younger, everyone thought she would continue the modeling business, or take up acting after her parents. She was in classes, pageants, shows, even small appearances in television, but it ended once her parents were murdered. The killer was never caught, but Emilia remembered him vividly. He was dead now. She read his obituary a few years ago. Instead, Emilia was accused of the crimes, and as mentioned before, she was committed to an insane asylum. Her behavior become destructive, her personality became the complete opposite of a refined poster child of a famed couple, and she admitted to the killing of her parents.

After a few years of going over the evidence, alibis, and the facts in general, someone realized Emilia was completely innocent and issued the release of Emilia Hayes.

When the first murder happened in the same style of the Hayes actors, Emilia panicked. So many years of trying to get herself back to normal and be a completely civilized person could possibly just go down the drain. She knew she didn't do it, but her personality from then could come back and admit to it. Emilia had her friend, Kyal Moore, remove her past from Scotland Yard's computers.

Emilia was jolted from her delving into her past by the image of Sherlock coming in the door.

They locked eyes for the first time in a couple days. Sherlock glanced around, probably for John, while Emilia looked the man over.

"Where is he?"

Emilia cleared her throat and shook her head.

"You're alone?"

Emilia nodded.

Sherlock started to remove his scarf and jacket, not breaking contact with the girl sitting in his chair.

"He should be back soon," Emilia said, clearing her throat again. She mentally noted that her lack of speech in the past month was a tad bit annoying.

"I see."

Sherlock seemed to pout as he sat in John's chair, eyeing his own longingly.

"Can I ask you something? In this rare privacy, and sworn secrecy?"

Sherlock nodded at Emilia as his hands formed a temple under his chin.

"Are you lonely?"

"I can't be lonely, I don't even think I know how," he answered defensively.

Emilia laughed quietly.

"That demanded privacy?"

"Definitely," Emilia shook her head again as her gaze dropped to her hand in her lap. She rolled her neck to try and relieve the stiffness the lack of movement in her shoulder had caused. "I missed you."

Sherlock's face crinkled up at her statement.

"Of course that comes as a shock, I assume?"

"I'm not alarmed, if that's what you're asking."

"Your face is slipping," Emilia replied while pointing at Sherlock. "I can tell when you're lying now."

"You think you're so perfect at my science now? Since when did you have time to study my creation?" Sherlock leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands folded into each other.

"I just realized what you do, now. When I noticed a few other things."

"If you're so good at it, tell me what you see," Sherlock bit out and jumped up onto John's chair. The cushion under his feet gave a groan from his weight. His arms were outstretched and motioned at himself.

"I see a man, so afraid of a lot of things right now, but choose to appear in a suit of diamond-plated armor. Appearances can be deceiving, though, as I can see a chip in his armor," Sherlock's lip twitched at that statement. "Something has affected him," Emilia began again, standing, "something has made him open up and realize actions he decided to forget."

"That isn't what I asked you."

"Then show me an example, oh wise one," Emilia bowed, wincing as weight pulled on her shoulder. She straightened her body, letting her hair fall to one side of her head.

"I see a woman, also afraid of a lot of things but didn't decide to hide it. She used to have so many plans, dreams to leave the country but something that held her back, something or someone. It has to be _someone_ but I couldn't really identify who. She fell in love. I know she wanted to travel because when I first laid eyes on her I saw travel agency papers and a passport at the top of her purse, but now it looks like the trip has been postponed or canceled altogether; now the items lay untouched at the bottom of her purse like she didn't care about them, didn't want to see them. She fell in love with someone, reasons being that the moment she was feeling better, her appearance was one of the first things she maintained on a regular basis. She never left the apartment though," Sherlock started to move around the sitting room, examining the contents as if he was just viewing them for the first time, "so I don't know why she tried to dress herself up so much. Unless it was for someone she was in close proximity to. But to stay put and wallow in a past she wanted to run away from so bad that she had it _erased_? This person had to be of great importance. Once she mentioned she followed an inhabitant of this very apartment's works, their blog, so immediately I thought of John. I see in this woman a coward, for holding in such feelings that normal humans tend to throw around so recklessly on a regular basis, so why hold it in for much longer? She must be afraid of rejection. I wonder why more people in the world can't think like me. But," Sherlock turned to look at Emilia again, finding her with her head pointed to the ground, "not many people can," and he then closed the distance between them and tilted Emilia's chin up with his hand. "Now, tell me what you…"

Sherlock paused when he saw tears in Emilia's eyes. They were silent tears, but definitely there.

"Have I missed anything?"

"Yes, dear God, yes, you have."

Sherlock took a step back from the girl and her head fell back down, but laughter joined her tears this time. Emilia sniffled before she turned around.

"I do still see a man clad in his armor that he claims is indestructible. He's just as human as the rest of us creatures that inhabit this world…" Emilia tangled her fingers with each other as she paused for a long moment. "Yeah, I did fall in love. I was in love before I even moved into this place," Emilia raised her good arm to motion at the flat. "Yes, I followed a blog, _and_ a website. I did plan to leave, I was so ready to leave—but look at what happened!" Emilia spun around to face Sherlock again. "Here I am stuck in a hole of despair that the past is haunting me with, and I've no way out. So I'm trying to cope with it. I fell in love with an almost celebrity. I thought when I met him, he'd be a dream come true. You know what I saw, though?"

"You—"

"He was a jerk. A real, great big, humongous jerk. Did that avert my affections? No. Not one bit. Wanna tell me why?" Emilia poked at Sherlock's chest. "You know everything, don't you?!"

The pair found themselves inches apart, Emilia in anger, Sherlock in denial.

The second woman to affect him this way. And this one was _human_.

Sherlock went to the fireplace and put his hand on the skull. Emilia was left between the two chairs John and Sherlock usually sit in. She ran a hand through her hair and bit her lower lip.

"Of all the things that had to fall from the sky…" Sherlock started to say, but slowly. "It had to be you. Rain. Snow. Meteors. The sky itself."

Emilia looked to him as her tears pooled again. Sherlock's fingers stroked the mantelpiece pensively.

"And it was you," he ended, turning to the tearful girl.

Emilia smiled at Sherlock, shaking her head and wiping her eyes.

"I still think you're a jerk."

"I know."

Emilia closed the distance between them and gave him a one armed hug, to which he awkwardly replied to with his hand nervously placed on her head, the other still on the skull.

* * *

John sat in front of Ella, upset with himself for realizing he was here a bit too late for his comfort.

"What a surprise, John."

John nodded as he fumbled with his fingers.

"Did something happen?"

John tilted his head as if he were thinking, then nodded.

"I've been reading your blog. It seems to have been helping you quite a bit."

"You could say that."

"And this particular incident couldn't be written about?"

John shook his head.

"It amazes me you still come to me and remain quiet like you do," the pen in Ella's hand was put to paper as she started writing.

John tried to read her writing, but because of previous sessions, she learned to shield her papers more around him. He couldn't decipher her notes now. Sherlock probably could, though.

"I hate my roommate."

Ella blinked in surprise.

"No, I mean, I don't hate him. I'm just… I'm upset with him frequently."

"Is it about anything in particular?"

"No. Maybe. Well, yes. I'm not upset, I suppose. I'm afraid for him."

"Has something changed in your living situation?"

John explained to the therapist his job with taking over a witness protection duty with Emilia.

"Maybe Emilia is becoming the root of your problems?"

"I think so. I'm afraid she's going to hurt Sherlock. I know she… I know she likes him. A lot. I've dated women. I've dated many women. I know women. Sherlock hasn't. His dating mentality is that of a young teenager. I don't think he knows what is going to happen, and I'm afraid for him."

"Now that you've got that off your chest, tell me the real reason you're in here."

John grumbled under his breath.

"I can sit here and wait all day. Take your time."

"I'm finally ready to talk about what happened in Afghanistan. I think."

"I'm all ears."

John launched himself into talking about the incident that led to his injury and discharge from the army. He reminisced and felt remorse for all the mistakes he made, but everything in the end showed how human he really was, and all he could be. Once he had spent the better half of an hour retelling everything to Ella, he felt at least twenty times better, now knowing someone else shares the burden of those days.

* * *

John returned home, cleansed and refreshed from the recent and past events in his life. When he found Emilia on Sherlock's couch and Sherlock in John's chair, John only felt right to complete the insanity by sitting in Sherlock's chair.

"Welcome home, John," Emilia rang out.

"Thank you. What's going on?"

"Sherlock is all crazed on nicotine patches. I don't know how to take him in his state."

John looked at Sherlock, actually noticing him in that state of mind. Closed eyes, even and slow breathing, tranquility.

"He came home not too long ago."

"How many does he have on?" John tried to look at Sherlock's arms, but they were covered by the sleeves of a white button up.

"I think four. The wrappers are in the rubbish bin."

John watched Emilia turn back to her book she had in her lap, pushing her glasses back on.

"I wish I could cook something right now. Otherwise I think I might pick up his silly addiction."

"Not good for you, Emilia, don't even think about it," Sherlock finally spoke.

"Yessir," she mock saluted him.

"I forgot to get some more milk," John stood with a sigh.

"It's okay. I got some," Emilia said without looking up.

John was over being frustrated with her now. For her to be injured, able to buy something she cares nothing about, all while being recently attacked multiple times? She was a pretty okay woman.


	9. Laughter Of A Violin

**So, hello, late update, I am aware. My laptop crashed hardcore, its in this infinite boot-loop. It won't stop :/ A friend is letting me use his laptop, and thankfully I have a habit of storing my writing online. This chapter is going to have an interesting front Sherlock and Emilia have to put up, but something I think you all will enjoy. Hopefully you all are still entertained! The plot will show itself soon... 3 **

Chapter Eight

When Sherlock woke up the in his bed, he was cold. So cold, it felt as though winter had entered his room and made permanent residence. He pushed his feet under his coverings further to try to warm his toes.

Sherlock exhaled. Yesterday, Emilia presented to him the oddest of affairs; she said she loved him. To him, he shrugged it off. To her, it was probably a big deal. He concluded with what was said, she only seemed to adore him. How else would one love someone without even have met them? Then the next thought popped up; how does he feel about her?

He scoffed and laughed at himself as he turned over in bed. His clock read early in the morning still. Glancing at the window he indeed found snow falling in large flakes, probably having caused at least an inch of accumulated snowfall so far.

Pulling on his dressing gown and slippers, he put his hand on his doorknob to only be halted by the smell of breakfast. Who was cooking? He cracked open his door slightly to peer into the kitchen, and indeed found Emilia attempting to cook. Her one-armed endeavors made him want to chuckle and tell her to quit, but he then admired her valiant efforts at still trying to please the men she lived with. Bacon and eggs were frying, toast being lightly browned, and coffee in the pot. She really had to stop before she hurt herself again.

To Sherlock though, as he continued to think about it some more and he really appreciated it. He really did like her assistance. Or her aptitude. Maybe even her grace as she tried to complete the tasks with one arm, but nonetheless, her. He did appreciate her, but not the way she appreciated him.

Sherlock caught her fingers tapping on the counter—a violin piece he recognized and loved to play as a child. He decided to relieve her of her duties in the kitchen.

"You should be resting rather than straining yourself."

Emilia jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice, halting her inward concerto.

Sherlock went to the stove to rearrange the food in the skillet.

"I didn't hear you wake up," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Sherlock remained quiet as he finished up the breakfast foods, and Emilia prepared the coffee cups, each for the three of the flat's occupants the way they like it. John woke on the couch moments later with a rumbling stomach. He joined the table with a yawn, plus a raised brow to being able to witness such a feat of Sherlock _cooking_.

"Don't think it's going to be a habit of myself doing the housework, John. I'm still not a maid."

"I wasn't even going to say anything," John said with a toothy grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he made plates for everyone, and Emilia handed out the cups of coffee and/or tea.

After breakfast, John left to meet up with a girl he had recently been conversing with. Sherlock found himself watching Emilia as she again tried to tap out the notes to the song she was thinking of earlier.

"Too bad your dominant arm is injured, otherwise I would like a performance of your skill."

"Dominant or not, I am ambidextrous with the violin."

Sherlock had to raise a brow.

"My fingers would be blistered from playing too much with one hand, so I taught myself to play with the other."

"Orchestra?"

"It was a hobby. I played with my mother until she died. She accompanied me on her piano. I still play occasionally, on my own. My favorite piece was—"

"Pachelbel's Canon."

"Yes. It always seemed to cheer me some. I wish to play the violin more than anything right now."

Sherlock had an idea in the back of his head, but felt very unsure Emilia would be able to keep up with the tempo he could propose. He crossed the room from his couch to retrieve his violin.

"Now you're just going to be a tease," Emilia smirked at him.

"We're going to play together. If you can keep up. Please do not annoy me with inability."

Emilia's brows met in the middle with a crease. "How do you insist we play together? I have no fiddle or arm well enough to play."

"Please don't call it a fiddle, violin is more elegant. Come stand before me."

"How do you think you're going to make this work?" Emilia stood anyway.

Sherlock grabbed her waist and pulled her to the opening in the room. He handed her the violin and signaled for her to prop it on her chin.

"Are you going to draw the bow for me then?"

Sherlock finished rosining the bow and flipped it upward with a swish and a goofy smile. He took a stand behind her and positioned himself so he could hold Emilia still with his left hand on her waist, and the whole right of his body could witness the violin and be able to reach the strings.

"I take that as a yes."

"When I draw the bow begin with the introduction."

"Who plays Canon without the beginning?" Emilia asked incredulously.

Sherlock drew the bow and Emilia pinned her fingers to the string. The first note sounded, and began the opening scale.

Emilia closed her eyes and envisioned the sheets of music in her head. She had the piece memorized, and the pictures in her head were a comfort to her. Made her feel like home again.

Sherlock watched Emilia's finger work and her expressions. She truly poured her heart into the piece. When the rest came before the fortissimo notes, she smiled brightly, and then her fingers moved to play the scales to Sherlock's tempo. His hand tightened on her waist when he felt impressed by her ambidextrous violin skills.

She played the whole notes with vibrato, the eighth notes with precision. Sherlock too, had to join her smile as he felt content with her talent. The one thing that amazed him most was how they were on par with the tempo. There were no adjustments to be made

The last note ended before they knew it, and with a relaxed sigh, Emilia rested back on Sherlock. He let the bow lower to his side as Emilia let the violin rest at hers. They sat there in a silent reverie for a few moments, until they could hear Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. Sherlock immediately went to put the violin away.

"Sherlock, I heard the violin and it was so happy! I just wanted to tell you I really loved that piece, dear. Good morning, Emilia!"

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," Emilia said with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, look at the mess you all have made in here," the elder woman began as she entered the kitchen.

Sherlock smiled as he shook his head. Looking back at Emilia he found almost the same expression.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked him as Mrs. Hudson busied herself in the kitchen with the dishes from the morning.

"About what?"

"The case."

Sherlock's happy face was exchanged for another of the same kind, but the more excited one. "Have you remembered something?"

Emilia's eyes shifted from him to Mrs. Hudson.

"She's too busy to hear us. Trust me."

With those two words ending the sentence, Emilia got goose bumps. _I trust you. _"I thought of something that maybe should have been considered."

"Don't leave me here waiting, what is it?"

"The men who were framed, how in the world did… their _DNA_ get on those women if they weren't even present?"

Sherlock placed his hands under his chin the way he does when he thinks. "None of them are in contact with any same person. If they are, its unconscious."

"They also probably had to willingly give up their… sperm," Emilia's face tinted red as she said the word. "Otherwise, they couldn't have been… forced to do that…"

Sherlock noted her uneasiness with the topic. It had to be overlooked for now. This needed discussing.

"You don't think they had donated it, do you?" she added.

Sherlock's face showed that expression it did when things clicked into place. "The sperm bank. We can start there."

Instantaneously, they started bracing themselves for the cold weather. Because of her injury, Sherlock had to assist Emilia with her scarf, coat and gloves, to his dismay. He wanted to move.

"Where are you two running off to now?" Mrs. Hudson stood in the doorway of the flat and called to them.

"Case, Mrs. Hudson! Lock up when you're done!" Sherlock called as the door at the foot of the stairs closed with a click.

Mrs. Hudson swung her hands in a manner that just screamed 'whatever!'

* * *

Emilia walked into the building with uneasiness about her. To her, this was the most embarrassing thing she could really be doing on a Thursday morning. Sherlock gave her a rundown of a scenario they had to play through to be able to get the information they need.

So here the pair are, walking arm in arm up to the desk.

"Hello, can I help you two?"

"Uhm, yes," Sherlock started, his acting voice on. "My girlfriend and I are, you see, wanting to have a child, but I'm unable to act up to par for the part."

Inside, Emilia thought the most embarrassing part about the whole ordeal was on his side.

"So you two are looking for a donor. Alright, come on in, fill out this paperwork."

Emilia was handed a clipboard and pen, and she and Sherlock were led to a room to fill out the papers in private. Sherlock walked around the small room observing things, while Emilia filled out false information.

"Oh, look, sweetie, they want to know why you're unable to provide me with a child," Emilia giggled as she pointed at the paper.

Sherlock gave a disgusted look her way and came to look anyway.

Emilia laughed and continued to fill out the papers.

"They think they can cure such an ailment as that with the correct information? Humph."

"Its fine, Sherlock. Not like this is for real anyway."

Sherlock continued to pace around the room until the nice lady from the desk came back in. _Back to acting_, Sherlock thought and joined Emilia's side. The lady took the information from Emilia.

"Looking over this, everything looks good. Do you both want to look through the profiles of all the donors we have with us?"

"Certainly," Emilia said with her actress voice. It seemed so solid, though, completely believable.

Sherlock put his hand on Emilia's and smiled at her so he could keep up the façade.

When they were handed the book, they flipped through pictures and information of all the men who came through the facility. Right off hand, Sherlock recognized eleven of the nineteen accused men. So this is a connection. But how did the sperm leave with the murderer without rising suspicious?

"Is this a true decision you want to make?" the woman asked.

Sherlock pursed his lips, and Emilia picked up after that.

"It's a lot to take in. We're really beginning to think this is our last option, but now that I'm here I'm starting to get cold feet…"

"That's a normal reaction once applicants get this far. We do keep all of your information on hand so that whenever you are ready we can pick up where we left off."

A thought crossed Sherlock's mind he needed cleared up. "So if we do, do this, well, are women the only ones employed here? I don't want a man to touch my darling girl in that intimate of a manner."

"We are a fully female staffed clinic, save for our lab technician. They do say we need to expand our diversity of staff," the woman tried to joke with him.

Emilia's hand tensed under Sherlock's as a laugh sounded in the hallway beyond the door.

"Honey, I'm willing to wait. I want to leave now; I'm feeling a bit light headed…" Emilia said suddenly.

Sherlock stood with her, keeping up the lover act and treating her so fragile. Emilia went for the door quickly and walked out, almost colliding with a female doctor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Emilia stuttered out.

"I'm sorry, too," the doctor said.

Sherlock caught a look in the doctor's eye that looked like familiarity. She recognized Emilia.

Emilia still pushed her way out and left the clinic, Sherlock on her heels. Once outside, Emilia still didn't stop until she was around the block.

"What was that for? We were still gathering some very important information!" Sherlock scolded her.

"I heard him," Emilia stammered, kneeling down. Her good arm was out bracing herself on the wall she was knelt to. No matter how cold the snow was right now, she was sweating.

"The killer?"

"That laugh I heard, it was him. I can't forget that voice."

"So the only man working there is him? How lame," Sherlock started. "That was an easy solve."

Emilia watched as Sherlock pulled his phone out and started to text. Probably Lestrade.

"Sherlock there wasn't a man in the hallway when I burst out of that room," Emilia stood again and leaned herself against the wall. She rotated her neck and adjusted the strap on the sling. "It was just that woman doctor and a nurse with her."

"Maybe the killer was visiting again?"

"The laugh was right outside that door. I don't know what I was thinking going out that door so quickly, what if he _was_ there?"

Sherlock stopped texting, but almost instantly Emilia got a text. She fished her phone out of her pocket and read her text.

_So close, but not quite. Try again, darling girl._

The phone number was a straight set of zeroes, so Emilia couldn't return the message or call, but instead she shook with a small tremor and handed the phone to Sherlock. As he read over it, he started to look around to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

There was nothing. No odd looking car, no window with someone watching, and certainly no scopes as far as he could see.

"Let's head back to the flat and get our bearings," Sherlock suggested as he threw his hand in the air for a cab.

* * *

John was home when the pair returned. John's head was balanced in the palm of his hand with an ice pack. Sherlock chuckled when he saw the man.

"What happened?" Emilia said as she went to his aid.

"Her boyfriend came home early, didn't he?"

"Did you know she had a boyfriend?" John asked with an accusing glare.

Sherlock shrugged off his coat. "It was a deduction, John. I don't even know the woman's name."

"… Yeah, he did." John placed his head back on the ice pack.

"He hit you?" Emilia asked with a loud tone.

"Just a few times. He went to the hospital."

"Atta boy," Emilia cheered then started to remove her scarf and coat. Sherlock again assisted her.

John gave the same look from a few moments ago as he witnessed Sherlock helping the girl. When the hell did he ever do anything like that?

"Great acting today, by the way, Emilia," Sherlock said as he hung her items on a hook.

"Oh, I wasn't acting," she said with a straight face as she pulled her gloves off.

Sherlock paused momentarily, but then spun on his heel and retreated to his room. Emilia watched the door close, and then grinned. She put her gloves in her pocket of her coat as it hung.

"I need to introduce you to a nice girl, John."

"You have girlfriends?"

"A few," Emilia said as she plopped down into Sherlock's chair. "Tell me the kind of girl you're looking for."

"I just want a nice girl, is that too much to ask?"

"Never," Emilia smiled and started to go through her phone.


	10. Put Yourself In Harm's Way

Chapter Nine

In his room, Sherlock was actually in his palace. Eleven out of nineteen men were recognized right away, and the other eight could have been located in the book too, the pages they didn't reach. The laughter Emilia heard, what was it? Sherlock processed all the different sounds he heard in the clinic. That one? No. That sound? No! Then faintly, he heard the laugh. He worked the faint sound into a loud one. So that's what the killer's voice sounds like. He then thought about what the female doctor and nurse looked like. The doctor was a tall woman with black hair, dyed, dead ends. Blue eyes behind glasses, pale skin, at least very early thirties. Height was slightly taller than Emilia. Chipped nails from either frustrated biting or hard labor. Then the look the doctor gave Emilia—she knew Emilia. Emilia didn't look like she knew her.

Sherlock was broken from his concentration when he heard Emilia give a cry of pain. Glancing at the clock he realized it was bandage changing time. Any day now, her stitches in her leg would need removed.

He opened the door in his mind again and this time made sure to lock the sound barriers.

The nurse was a mousy blonde girl, a pixie haircut. She was surprised by Emilia's outburst from the room, and showed sincere ignorance to her. The nurse didn't stand out at all in Sherlock's head, and found no reason to pick her apart. As he tried to recall looking around the hall, it _was_ true there was no one else in close enough proximity to give off such a volume of laughter. Maybe the woman just had the same voice?

_Or maybe the killer really is the woman._

Sherlock jumped up off his bed with a start. He shied away from his bed where the idea originated like it was some kind of diseased creature. Is that even _possible_? Everything snapped into place, his favorite thing to happen when trying to piece the difficult together.

Yes, a woman could actually be the culprit. She could be the one 'raping' and killing the woman. She has the means of framing the men. How insane could a woman be?

But what was her motive? Without a motive or proof, the charges wouldn't stick. Not to mention Moriarty has arranged everything for her, or is making her doing so. What a consulting jerk.

"Could you teach me how to do that?"

Sherlock turned his gaze to the door where he found Emilia waiting.

"That mind palace, thing. John and I stood here watching you for a solid ten minutes, Sherlock."

"It's not an acquired skill, it's a talent."

"Oh, well." Emilia walked into Sherlock's room and sat herself on the bed where he jumped up from. "Did you find a bug here or something? When you jumped up I laughed so hard," Emilia started giggling.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "No, uhm, actually, I just had a breakthrough, is all."

"Did you figure something out? About…" Emilia sat on the edge of the bed now, anxious expressions in her face and body language.

Sherlock hesitated for the slightest second, and then shook his head. "It was about something else. I'm sorry."

He indirectly promised himself he wouldn't tell her anything until he knew more.

"That's alright. I like staying here anyway," she responded quietly. "I keep thinking if the case gets solved and the man who's doing all of this is put to pay for his crimes, I'd have to return home. You and John won't have to watch over me anymore."

"That bothers you?"

"It alarms me. John told me life with you measured up to more than anything he'd ever done anywhere else in his life. I like the way things have been lately, save for the injuries. It was beautiful, the way he talked. He really likes you; you're probably the best friend he's ever had."

"I don't have friends."

"He said you would say that."

"No use in fabricating lies."

"Is that your armor?" Emilia looked up from her hands in her lap. The look on his face asked her to continue. "The armor I said you had the other day. Do you just hide behind these walls you create so that you don't have to admit to feelings?"

"What is it with you and feelings? Every woman and feelings…" Sherlock spun around and faced the wall, hands placed on his hips.

"Because I'm a woman—you assume _feelings_ are all I ever care about?"

"It seems like it. I don't know what it is with you humans. You all bore me with your feelings, your urges and needs, things I live perfectly fine without."

Emilia straightened off the bed and approached Sherlock. He turned when he heard her stop before him.

"I would slap you right now, but I'm afraid you wouldn't _feel_ it."

Sherlock watched her stomp out of the room. For a split instance, he wanted to follow her and make the wrong right, but he felt it was pointless. Instead, he went to messing with a solved Rubik's Cube on his dresser.

After seventeen minutes and having solved the cube ninety-two times, Sherlock decided to check on the states of all the various experiments he had throughout the flat. It took him a moment, but he realized he was home alone.

He double checked all the rooms and looked for his flat mates' coats. They had indeed left. One corner of his mouth fell down in a melancholy look, but he had also decided he would get more quiet progress with the solitude.

But before he knew it, he was texting John.

_Where have you run off to? –SH_

_ Emilia is introducing me to one of her friends. –JW_

More women. Sherlock scoffed.

_What happened, by the way? –JW_

_ If you're talking about Emilia, then it is no concern. –SH_

_ Suit yourself. She went off to some doctor's appointment as soon as she introduced Sariah and I. Did you know she had one? –JW_

Damn Watson not watching over her like he was supposed to! Sherlock was a slight bit nervous about her on her own, knowing he had the identity of the murderer figured out, also having literally ran into her. And a doctor's appointment?

_She say where? –SH_

_ Some 'lady stuff' doctor, I didn't pry. Should I have not let her go? –JW_

_ Enjoy your date. –SH_

Moments later, Sherlock was bound for the clinic.

* * *

Emilia sat in the waiting room nervously. The area around her neck was sweating from her sling, and the bloody thing in general was making her uncomfortable. It really helped though holding her still, but damn right now it was a hindrance. Her hands were closed so tightly in her lap that she almost felt her nails break skin.

"Colette? The doctor will see you now."

Emilia stood up at the sound of her alias being called. She walked as calmly as she could to the assistant and followed her to a doctor's office. Immediately she wished for Sherlock, or at least John in the role of a brother or something, to help steady her. She felt like running. No, she had to be strong.

"Colette!"

Emilia turned at the name and of course to that voice.

"I'm sorry to make you wait, looks like I was able to come after all," Sherlock told her as he joined her side before disappearing in the hallway.

Emilia though, pursed her lips but decided to go on with the happy-couple-wanting-to-bear-a-child act.

"It's fine, I'm glad you could make it."

Sherlock grabbed Emilia's hand and tightened his grip to a strangling pressure. Okay, so he was mad at her. But she was also mad at him, so she returned the hold on his hand just as fiercely.

Once to the doctor's office, they found the dark haired woman from yesterday waiting.

"Hello, Colette and Andrew. I'm Dr. Malia Richards. I understand you have some questions you wanted to ask me?"

Emilia nodded, still not hearing the voice she heard before. Sherlock noticed the woman had changed her voice to sound a few octaves higher. Inwardly he cringed, but it would have to do for now. _What does she want from Emilia so bad?_

"Yes, well, I was wondering…" Emilia trailed off, not knowing how to ask the questions.

Sherlock stepped up and asked the same one from yesterday. "No men will touch my darling girl in any way, correct?"

"No way in whatsoever. I am the only one in contact with the patients. The only man who works here keeps tabs on the inventory, so to speak."

_What an awful job._ "Do you think we'll be able to look through the books again?"

Malia handed the books to Emilia and Sherlock caught the look in the doctor's eye again; recognition. Sherlock started to feel nervous.

"What about him, dear?" Emilia drew him to the book and pointed at a page that was later in the pages they didn't get to yet. Number twelve. Sherlock noted numbers thirteen through nineteen by the end of the book.

"Perhaps, but let's not make a hasty decision. Why not find someone that looks more like me?" Sherlock joked in character.

"I don't think I could deal with that much beauty and adorableness at home," Emilia answered, and Sherlock _knew _she definitely wasn't in character anymore. She picked it back up again instantly. "I guess that's all I needed to ask. I felt like there was more. I'm sorry," Emilia giggled. "I guess all that's left is more discussion with my boyfriend."

"How long have you two been together?" Malia asked.

Sherlock looked to Emilia with a heartwarming smile. "Over three years now."

"Ah, never thought about getting married?"

"Not worth my time," Emilia said quickly. "It's just a name change, to me anyway."

"I understand," the doctor smiled. She offered her hand to each in a handshake. "Well, perhaps we'll hear from you soon. Until then, take care."

"Thank you, you too," Emilia shook the hand and left with Sherlock.

Outside, Emilia let out a held in breath. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing."

Emilia eyed Sherlock with an angry glare. "We get mad at each other, and—who was it, John—gives me away and you come running. Can't stand to trust me?"

"Have you forgotten what happened to you?" Sherlock asked sincerely as they traveled with the various and random foot traffic on the walkway. "You were attacked, almost killed, still surviving, targeted, shot at, and prancing around where the murderer could possibly be?"

"Prancing? I'm investigating."

"You haven't the faintest idea of how to even _ask_ questions properly."

"Perhaps. I had it under control."

"Shall I prove you wrong, or do you want to continue lying to me?"

Emilia stopped her pacing and gave him an accusing look.

Sherlock inhaled. "Your eyes dilated, your breathing accelerated, the sweat pouring from you in an air-conditioned room, the way—"

"It wasn't a challenge, when I looked at you like that. Just be quiet."

"Quiet is boring."

"How can you be so bored?"

"How can I not?"

"Being you, being around you, all the things you possibly could think of in a single second… I'd always have something to do."

"It gets old."

The pair resumed their walk, the confrontations and arguments not really in the foreground of their minds now. Emilia asked Sherlock questions to get to know him better, to which he openly answered. When Sherlock tried to reciprocate the questions, though, Emilia barely shared any information.

"I don't have much to say about me. Everything about me you see is all I am, and I know you see everything."

"I can assume things," Sherlock started, looking over Emilia again to try to reread things about her. "I don't always gather everything, though. I couldn't learn your phone number from looking at you."

"If you didn't already have it, I'd think you were totally asking me for those numbers, sir."

Sherlock grinned. "I was only making an example."

"Oh, and here I was hoping you were making a pass at me."

"You'd know." _I wouldn't even know how._

Emilia laughed and grabbed his arm and walked next to him. They continued their exchanges, and settled on stopping for Chinese before actually going home.

"What about John?" Emilia asked.

"He's more than willing to talk about himself, so ask him yourself. You're a fan of his, so obviously you know about as much as you could ever care about."

"You speak so mean about him but you care so much. You're an odd creature, Sherlock."

"Anything but human."

"What do you have against us _humans_, anyway?" Emilia twirled her fork in some noodles on her plate.

Sherlock sat down his utensils and folded his hands before his chin. "They're boring. Normal. Predictable. They can't fathom everything the world really has to offer, then again, being a high-functioning sociopath, I see things and feel things completely different from anyone else. The normal observation of what a human could see through that window," Sherlock pointed to the window right next to their table, "is so mundane compared to what I see."

"What do you see?"

"I want your answer to that question, first."

Emilia looked, and started to tell him everything she saw. "An overcast sky, people walking to their destinations. Cars, buildings, the such."

"I see a sky that snowed less than a mile away and it's slowly making its way here. Those people can't be classified as an entire unit, because that person," he pointed out a man texting on his phone, standing in place and tapping his foot to music pumping through headphones, "is on his way to commit another serial act of adultery. He's married, yet I watched him remove his ring only moments before and is seeming to be excited by whomever he is conversing with. I think it may be the woman over here in the back corner of the restaurant—don't look at her, Emilia—then the rest of the humans out there all, to me, have a recognizable trait, habit, or something of the sort that sticks out to me. I can tell you where they've been and possibly where they're going. I can tell you what each of those buildings hold and why it's such a bad marketing or living decision. The cars all sound like they have a malfunction requiring a mechanic's attention like a babe craving for his mother."

Emilia was staring at Sherlock with an entranced expression.

"Here's the part where I'm either complimented or insulted, and judging by the look on your face is the former of the two."

"You're mesmerizing."

"That's a new one," Sherlock chuckled and picked his chopsticks back up.

"No, not just what you've just done, but you as an entire whole."

Sherlock chewed and watched Emilia as her eyes just seemed to drift over what she saw of him rather quickly.

"I can't even begin to explain it, everything I ever learned about you before meeting you, I thought was brilliant. Now that I know you, met you and am getting to know you, I'm astounded by you, you're… all of you."

"I presume that's a glowing compliment."

"I could say more, but I've already gone there before and gotten nowhere," Emilia smirked and dug into her food again.

Sherlock studied Emilia.

Lost weight. Shoulder is swelling and showing expressions of pain. Happy. Very, very happy. Wearing new clothes. Eating very little. Tired.

He ran out of things to deduce about her personality because he realized she wasn't showing it at all. He wanted to know more, but that would require many exchanges of words she seemed adamant against. Sherlock could take a page out of John's book and try to talk these things out of her as he got to know her better.

"I was just wondering about John, and remembered what you did. Who is this woman you set him up with?"

"Oh, Sariah Moore. My friend Kyal's sister. She's a beautiful girl, and very nice. I'm sure John's having the best time with her, right now. He decided to take her out to eat and then to catch a film at the cinema."

"That's good. I'll have to meet her to make sure she's as pure as you think."

"I assure you she is, and maybe you should leave John to get to know his dates before you unravel their whole lives in embarrassment."

"I embarrass them? And how do you know?"

"Me and John are BFFs," Emilia laughed while raising a brow.

Sherlock chuckled and pointed at Emilia's plate with his chopsticks. "Finish up, I want to try to make it home before the snow actually does fall."

Emilia threw up her fork to counter his chopsticks in a mock sword fight. The two laughed as they drew it out for a moment, then returned to eating in silence; save for Emilia watching Sherlock as his laughter quieted and his smile faded. Sherlock was beautiful to her.

And she to him.

**A late update again, but remember I haven't forgotten you. I'm dealing with personal stress of a ridiculous multitude. I'm struggling to get by in life, struggling to keep my head above the water. I like the feelings fanfiction gives me and how it helps me escape the real world for a while. It's nice. Does anyone have any suggestions to give me? I'm almost out of reading material. **

**Keep the reviews coming, you have no idea how much they mean to me as well. **


	11. Rapunzel

Chapter Ten

The pair returned to the flat (only a few blocks away, mind you) with the snow attacking them the last block home. When they reached the sanctuary of the entrance of 221B, Emilia clutched at her shoulder as the bouncing had pulled at her injury. She was giggling though, amused that they hadn't missed the snow. And it completely stuck to them, soaking them entirely.

Sherlock started up the stairs and rid himself of his coat, then hung in over the heater. His scarf joined it, then he sighed as he helped Emilia with her accessories. Sherlock pursed his lips when he saw Emilia's shoulder all bandaged up, red now showing.

"Your shoulder needs to be dressed again."

Emilia looked down at it and saw the blood trying to seep through. "John usually does it. I don't know when he'll be back, exactly."

"Go sit, I'll do it. Don't start to expect this hospitality from me on a regular basis."

"Now, why in the _world_ would I ever do such a thing?" Emilia mocked him and pulled a chair from the kitchen table. She settled in it and watched Sherlock gather the supplies.

"I'm probably not going to be as temperate as he," Sherlock said while Emilia raised the strap of her sling over her head.

"That goes without saying, Sherlock." Emilia then proceeded to free her upper body from the dress she was wearing. She slid the straps down her arms and unzipped the back, freeing her shoulder from any obstructions.

Sherlock turned back to her with medical supplies in hand and paused for a moment, seeing Emilia's bare back like so. He noticed she was still covered up on her front though, so he resumed his pace to her.

Emilia started to peel off the medical tape from the front of the wound. Sherlock took a cloth and dropped peroxide onto it, waiting for her to finish moving the gauze. He pressed the cloth against the wound, and through the silence they heard the reaction of bubbles cleaning the wound. With a small wince, Emilia laughed.

"What's so funny?" Sherlock asked as he glanced between her face and her shoulder. He started patting the wound with the cloth.

"When you said you weren't going to be so soft, I honestly expected more than this. You're already more gentle than John."

"I don't want to hurt you," Sherlock said before he even really thought about it.

Emilia's face tinted pink as Sherlock's face froze. He was confused, as he found his mouth had betrayed his will to keep silent.

"That's good, then," Emilia answered.

Sherlock pressed onto her wound again, the bubbling sound gone. He dried the excess liquid from her shoulder and placed a new bandage over the hole securely. The replacing and cleaning of the bandage on the back was just as the first one was.

Emilia slid her straps of her dress back on, and Sherlock zipped it up for her without her even asking. Now he wanted to scold his hands. His brain-to-anything filter was slipping. Because of her.

Once Emilia had her sling back on, John came home.

"Emilia, I owe you so much, so much I could probably tell you I love you."

"I guess everything went well?" Emilia said with a laugh.

Sherlock listened in with both ears as he tried to keep his hands busy with other work.

"Sariah is a beautiful, _amazing_ girl. She's so talented, and smart, funny, so nice, and—"

"So when's the wedding?" Sherlock joked with a flat tone.

"I don't want to get too excited," John replied. "I don't want to push her too far."

"He wasn't serious, John," Emilia put her hand on John's shoulder, trying to calm him. He'd been stepping around ever since he came through the door. He even still had his coat on.

"Well—yeah, I mean, she's just—and she _likes_ me! She really does. She even follows my blog. She even shared her blog with me. I'm so happy right now I could burst!"

"Mrs. Hudson just cleaned so could you postpone the bursting activity?" Sherlock threw in again, looking through a microscope.

Emilia frowned at the detective. If he wanted to be part of the conversation, he could have been a civilized person about it. In other words, _there was no slide in the microscope for the man to even be looking at._

"Oh, my phone is ringing. I got to get that," John fetched his phone from his pocket and retreated to his room.

Emilia joined Sherlock's side. She grabbed a sample slide from the box near him and stuck it under the scope.

"Figured you might have wanted that."

Sherlock didn't move his head from the lenses, but rolled his eyes to look at her. She smiled ever so cockily, then sat on the couch and picked up her book she had been reading for a while.

Sherlock smirked as he looked at the slide now, deciding to conduct an experiment with what he saw.

Night arrived, the trio slept, and morning arrived.

Emilia woke up with a start. Her heart was pounding, aching even, and her body was covered in sweat. She threw the blankets off of her and swung her legs off the bed and to the floor. The pads of her feet connected with the cold, cold, wooden floor, and she wasted no time in checking on her friends. She could hear John snoring in the living room, so she went straight to Sherlock's room.

The tall man was surely asleep in his bed, or at least was, until his door swung open so loudly.

"What in the world is your problem?"

"Are you okay?" Emilia asked, almost seeming out of breath.

Sherlock rubbed his eyes and made a few funny faces before looking at her with squinted eyes.

"I felt like something was wrong, I wanted to make sure you were alright…"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Except for the fact you woke me up. What time is it?"

Emilia looked around for a clock, and they both looked at it at the same time. Not even six A.M.

"Go back to bed, Emilia. I'm actually sleeping for once."

"Can I stay in here?"

Sherlock had only just laid himself back down and was in the process of covering himself with his many blankets. "What for?"

"To be with you," she responded quickly.

"You couldn't handle sleeping in a bed with your shoulder with someone else. Go back to John's room."

"But—"

"You're only lonely," Sherlock said rolling over and pulling his blanket back over him. "Everyone gets lonely and we just get used to it."

"Are you lonely then? If that's the way you want to put it."

"Go. Back. To. Bed."

Emilia watched the man for an instant, then left. When the click sounded from the doorknob, Sherlock rolled over to look at where she stood. He had half expected Emilia to defy him and join him. The other half hoped.

In John's room, Emilia sat on the edge of the bed staring at her hands in her lap. She glanced at the sling sitting on the bedside table, then tried to rotate her bad shoulder. Okay, that was a bad idea. Emilia bit her lip as she babied her injury a little.

When Emilia was seven, she had a pet dove in a birdcage hanging high in her bedroom. The dove made beautiful cooing noises during the day, and slept peacefully when the moon was hanging in the sky. Emilia loved the creature so much, she made sure to take extra care of it. She fed it when it ran out of food, gave it water everyday, and even let it out to hop around her room sometimes. Her parents were happy with the responsibility she showed, and decided she was ready for a different pet. They got her a kitten then.

Needless to say, when Emilia was playing with her dove, the cat had attacked and killed the beautiful bird she had for so long. Emilia's mother swore she would cry, but instead took to silence, and didn't want the cat anymore.

When Emilia's parents were murdered, everyone swore she would cry, but she didn't. She took to silence.

So why in the world would she cry over a man she hasn't even had, or even lost yet? She wiped her eyes and laid down carefully, and tried to fall asleep again.

Outside the door, Sherlock pursed his lips. He trotted to the sitting room quietly, and prodded at John's shoulder.

"What, what, what?" John jumped up and looked around the dark room with alert.

"She's crying again, why does she do that?"

"What? Who? Is she okay?"

"She's not in physical pain, it appears. Why does she cry when she's not in pain?"

John rubbed his eyes, still trying to figure out what was happening. "Sherlock, really? She told me she told you."

"Told me what?"

John stared at his flat mate with complete annoyance. "The woman told you she loved you, and you just stood there. You know, I was worried she would be the one hurting you."

"Is this why you went to the therapist? To talk about me?"

"How did you even know about that?"

"I noticed how you were feeling when you came home. Human's usually feel like that when they share burdens with a trusted human. You hadn't met Sariah yet, so it must have been the only other person you trust, either your sister or your therapist. You just confirmed it was the therapist."

"If you can gather that much about me, then why don't you know so much about her yet?"

"She's a woman. I don't like them."

John blinked repeatedly as he digested the information. "Are you," John retracted his head and confusion took over his face. "Are you trying to tell me you are uhm," he cleared his throat, "not... straight, then?"

"As I've told you before, I consider myself married to my work, John, and-"

"You don't have to marry Emilia! Just at least acknowledge her. You can't just let her sit there and not know what's going on."

* * *

_"Emilia?"_

"Yes? Who is this?"

_"Can I tell you a story?"_

"I'm not too fond of stories..."

_"Once upon a time, there was a princess. She lived in a very, very high tower. She couldn't get out, and no one could get in. You know what her name was?"_

"Rapunzel."

_"Not in this story! This time, she's named Emi. Short for Emilia. So, one day, while in her tower, a knight came to visit. He called to her, _let me in! _And so, she did. The two silly creatures fell in love. What happens next?"_

"Moriarty, is this you?"

_"The knight had an enemy that didn't like that the knight was happy. So he took away the princess, and, well, lets make it PG, shall we? She's dead."_

Emilia looked at the door connecting John's room to the rest of the flat from the bed. She clutched the phone tightly in her hand. "Are you going to kill me?"

"_That would fit the fairy tale, wouldn't it? Oh, I don't think this is going to work very well, I've already spoiled the ending._"

"Tell me what you want!" Emilia cried, jumping to her feet.

"Emilia, are you okay in there?" John knocked on the door.

She panicked and gave a look back to the door. Emilia hesitated before speaking. "I'm okay, John! Sorry!"

"_Until the end, Princess._"

The line went dead. John entered the room with his eyes covered.

"Are you decent?"

"Y-yes…"

"It's bandage time."

Emilia watched John as he held up the bandages and cleaning solution. Behind him, in the distance, Sherlock watched with his scarf in his hands, coat branded on his body.

"Is he leaving?"

"He's researching a client's information. Here, I brought a chair," John spun the chair through the door on its leg and into the room.

Emilia watched Sherlock's stone cold gaze as the door slowly drifted closed. He nodded at her, then fled soundlessly as the door closed with a click.

The weeks then passed, Emilia hadn't spoken to John or Sherlock about the mysterious call. Her healing went by without complications, and eventually the sling was shed. The mobility came back slowly but she was still limited. Not once in that time had she told Sherlock anything about her feelings, or made any motions of the like. Christmas was nearing, and Sariah was introduced to Sherlock. He managed to not insult her too much, having been warned by glances and glares at him from his flat mates.

"Sariah was telling me she won a contest the other day at the coffee shop. She got tickets to a play performance at the theater in a few days."

"That sounds lovely, what's it called?" Emilia smiled from behind her tea cup at the couple across the table.

"Rapunzel. You know, the old fairy tale of the girl with the very long hair in the tower?"

Emilia bit her tea cup as it was between her lips. "An old favorite."

"John said he's not really a fan, so I was wondering if you would go with me instead. I owe you a night out in return for all the wonderful times John has introduced me to, all because I finally agreed to go on a blind date."

Emilia looked at the expectant couple. To be honest, she couldn't turn her down. She'd been turning down Sariah's attempts to hang out with her out of her fear of being attacked, and that the call with Moriarty scared her almost to death.

"Rapunzel. Of all things…"

"Is that an old favorite?" John inquired curiously.

"Oh, Emilia loved old fairytales back when we first met. I think that's what drawn me to her, it's one of my old favorite pastimes, fairytales. I always dreamed of being a princess."

"Well, I hope I am able to treat you like such a princess!"

John and Sariah began to baby talk at each other and adore each other in odd ways at the kitchen table. Emilia pursed her lips and nibbled on the rim of the tea cup. Her eyes caught hold of Sherlock's again, and the gaze was the same as the last time she saw him leaving weeks ago. Now able to see it up close, it was a little more defined.

When they shared Chinese a while ago, Sherlock's eyes had melted with compassion.

And here it was again.

Emilia leaned back in the chair and watched him, tuning out the couple's mushy exclamations. Sherlock was typing away on his laptop, recording notes of some sort probably. When Emilia set her cup down, Sherlock paused his typing and relaxed in his chair. His hands folded in his lap, but not once had he broken away from her eyes.

"Would you feel safer if the boys went?" Sariah asked.

Emilia was jolted from her locked stare and instantly agreed. "I am supposed to be watched over, anyway, and those two can keep a better eye on us."

"Good idea, I keep forgetting that's our job right now," John chuckled and placed a hand on Sariah's thigh.

They continued to be wrapped up in each other's presence and Emilia looked back to Sherlock. He was now by the door, coat donned and holding up her own. So he wanted to go for a walk? Sounds like a good idea.

**Emilia seems like a real needy person, but in reality we all can be quite needy. She's going to get better, injuries make us all lazy and our defenses go down. We become needy idiotic creatures. **


End file.
